Matchmaker
by Pace
Summary: Updated: 20051204. 'The day I join forces with Dumbledore is the day my son declares his undying love for a mudblood,' Lucius snapped. ... Oh, really? Rated 'M' for language and implications.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own or claim to own any of the characters known from the novel series "Harry Potter", which was created by the amazing J.K. Rowling. I am merely borrowing characters from this series as a means of creative outlet. No profit is gained from the writing and publishing of this story, but should the authorities holding the legal rights to Harry Potter find this story offensive and demand for it to be taken down and deleted, their wishes will of course be respected. (There… I think I'm safe now…)

**Summary:** Against his better judgment Severus Snape reveals to Lucius Malfoy that he is a spy for the Order of the Phoenix and offers him to join forces with Dumbledore in order to protect his long-standing friend and his family. Lucius declines, of course, but his last words to his friend will have a heavy influence on his son's life – more so than he could ever imagine.

**Rating:** Presently PG-13, I am not intending to go beyond that at present. It all depends on the way the story develops.

**Time Frame:** End of 5th year, beginning of 6th year. Will we see a lot of Voldemort? Nah. Seeing that the new HP volume is coming out this summer, I guess that qualifies this story to be an A/U.

**Pairings:** DM/HG (obviously), others – no clue!

**A/N:** This is my very first Harry Potter fanfiction. I therefore apologize should the characters be too OOC – I still need to gather some experience writing HP fics. Nevertheless, any constructive criticism is welcomed and greatly appreciated

As English is not my native language, I am likely to mess up some sayings etc. and I hope you won't hold this against me. :P

Thank you very much for taking the time to read my story and if you want to make yourself a fan, drop me a review to tell me what you thought of this story.

Insanely yours,

Pace

**Warning:** I really really tried hard not to let it happen, but for the sake of the prologue it was virtually impossible to keep Snape and Lucius Malfoy in character. My aplogies!

Chapter revised: 2005-12-01

**Matchmaker**

_Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match.  
Find me a find; Catch me a catch.   
Matchmaker, matchmaker, look through your book  
and make me the perfect match._

- From "Fiddler on the roof" (musical)

**Prologue**

Lucius Malfoy's eyes were fixed on the man sitting vis-à-vis to him, finding it very hard to breathe all of a sudden. He closed his eyes and shook his head, as if a stray ray of light had blinded him temporarily and he needed to force the world back into focus.

Hesitantly, he studied the face of his guest: the sharp, hooked nose; the lank, pitch black hair; the solemn, dark eyes – there was absolutely no doubt that the person facing him so calmly was indeed Severus Snape, yet somehow, Lucius expected to find a flaw, a proof that would defy the words of this man and reveal him to be the impostor Lucius was convinced he was. Briefly, he wondered whether he should wait for an hour or two to make sure that there was no Polyjuice Potion involved, but a tiny nagging voice deep inside of him reminded him that the effect of such a potion would have worn off some time ago – Severus Snape had been a guest at his house all night long.

"You mean to tell me… you… _you_ mean to tell me that you are on… on _their_ side!" he suddenly exclaimed, jumping out of his chair and knocking it over. Severus Snape nodded calmly. He didn't seem to be in the least phased by his host's sudden outburst; in fact, he seemed to be disturbingly calm which fuelled Lucius' anger more than anything else.

It was infuriating to find that the man he had thought to be one of his closest friends, the man who had been his best man and had agreed to be his only son's godfather, the very man who was as close to him as a brother, the man he would blindly entrust with not only his own life but that of his beloved family, as well, revealed himself to be a traitor to their noble cause. If someone else had told him that Severus Snape was a supporter of the "Light Side", Lucius Malfoy would have tortured them until they would have taken that accusation back. No, on second thought, he would have not even bothered to waste that much time – he would have simply killed the offender.

But it hadn't been someone else. It had been Severus Snape, who told him personally that he was a member of the dreaded Order of Phoenix. Severus' calmness had been unnerving while he had revealed a story to Lucius that had served to not only drain all the colour from his admittedly already very pale features, but had also forced his eyes open so wide, that Lucius was sure they would roll out onto the floor with a soft 'pop' any moment now. And then, after finishing his blood curling tale, Severus Snape had asked him, Lucius Malfoy, to turn traitor on the Dark Lord as well, to join the Light Side, to fight alongside Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter! All that with the solemn expression and calm voice that Lucius had come to value so much in the past.

It wasn't infuriating. It didn't make him feel as if the weight of the world had suddenly come crashing down onto his shoulders. It didn't even leave him in the wake of almost unbearable emotional pain.

It was a combination of all those things and a sudden, overwhelming emptiness that took a hold of his soul. The feeling was indescribable, he didn't want to be able to describe it; no, he didn't even want to feel it in the first place!

"But… Severus! Have you forgotten our cause, our noble task, the glorious goal we've been working so hard for all our life? How can you turn your back on our lord? How can you turn your back on _me_? Me, Severus, how can you do this to _me_?" Lucius asked, his voice shaking.

"It's a fool's errand; don't you see that, Lucius? Yes, I admit it, when I was younger I clung to his every word and I thought with him in charge the world would be… different. Better," Severus answered his voice still unnervingly calm. "But I was foolish. You know the price I had to pay; you were there that night, Lucius! Loyal or not, he will make you pay just the same – do your really want to jeopardize Narcissa's life like that? Is it really worth risking losing your only son? Tell me, Lucius, is it?" he asked sharply and the blond man recoiled, as if he had been slapped forcefully.

"You are talking nonsense. You… you are not yourself. You must be under the influence of some… potion. Or did they resort to actually using the Imperius Curse on you? It must be! I wouldn't put it past that Mad-Eye Moody or anyone else of that blasted order…" Lucius began and Snape realized he was ranting, pacing the room like a caged animal, desperately trying to find a solution where there was no problem that required one.

"I assure you, I am fine. I am neither under the influence of a personality-altering nor under that of a mind-controlling potion and we both know that I am well capable of throwing off an Imperius Curse. I am absolutely in control of myself and what I have just told you is nothing but the truth," Severus said.

This conversation wasn't going the way Snape had hoped it would, but considering Lucius position he had known not to expect anything else. He was well aware that he might not have a chance to leave this house alive, but it was not in his nature to fret and panic. He would accept whatever came his way – even if it was death.

The two men looked at each other, neither saying a word. The dull roaring of the fire place was almost deafening in their ears, the heat suddenly unbearable. Lucius Malfoy felt as if he were suffocating. He turned to a window and pushed it open, allowing the cool night air inside. He didn't turn around as he addressed Snape again.

"I thank you for your concern; I know that it was your worry for me and my family's safety that has allowed you to confess your betrayal to me tonight. I appreciate that more than you know. However, I cannot support you on the path you have chosen, Severus, nor am I capable or willing to join you. My loyalties lie clearly with the Dark Lord.

"I won't speak of your betrayal to anyone, but I won't hesitate to point you out as a traitor should you appear in midst of His loyal servants, feigning to be one of them – make no mistakes about that.

"You may leave my properties, I will not seek to harm or kill you." Lucius finished.

"If that is your final word," Snape said softly, regret seeping into his voice.

"The day I join forces with Dumbledore is the day my son declares his undying love for a mudblood! That's my final word," Lucius snapped.

Severus Snape picked up his cloak, putting great effort into wrapping it around himself and tying the silver fastenings. When he was done, he nodded his head in a silent greeting, grabbed a handful of floo powder from a crystal bowl on the fireplace and tossed it onto the fire, mumbling his destination and stepping into the emerald green flames without looking back once. As he began to spin in the fire, his thoughts returned to Lucius last words.

"_The day I join forces with Dumbledore is the day my son declares his undying love for a mudblood!"_

'We'll see,' Severus Snape mused. 'I have paired one Malfoy with his perfect match. Don't think I can't do it again, Lucius.'


	2. No regrets

**A/N:** Wow, 10 reviews in such a short time! A huge "thank you" to all of you for taking the time to let me know your opinion; I do hope that I'll be able to show myself worthy of so much attention (and praise). I'd like to reply to some of your reviews, but I am afraid my replies are rather lengthy, too long to put them in front of the actual chapter, as a matter of fact. Thus I have placed my replies at the bottom. That way you won't have to scroll down forever to get to the story. I apologize for the first chapter being so short – I wanted to go on and on, but it did make a lot of sense to end the chapter where I ended it. (Result: no Hermione, no Draco, in fact no anybody but Snape and Snape himself)

I hope you'll enjoy this chapter nevertheless and let me know what you think of it. Please feel free to voice your (constructive) criticism or to point out any inconsistencies you come along – I want this story to be good after all and I can only improve through your feedback. And now... enjoy!

Insanely yours,

Pace

Chapter revised: 2005-12-01

Inspiration: 'No Regrets' by Robbie Williams

**Matchmaker**

_Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match.  
Find me a find; Catch me a catch.   
Matchmaker, matchmaker, look through your book  
and make me the perfect match._

- From "Fiddler on the Roof" (musical)

**Chapter 1 – No regrets**

Twilight, darkness' vanguard, had conquered light's fortresses once again, and divided the sky into orange-golden, red and purple segments that would eventually fade into a warm hue of blue, announcing night's victory. The illustrious castle of Hogwarts stood pitch black against the colourful sky like a silhouette, seeming unreal and fantastic, yet truly picturesque at the same time.

The castle's chambers were bathed in shadows and random rays of golden light here and there that held the promise of life. No candles were lit, no fireplaces were burning. The castle was empty; void of the infectious liveliness usually residing there during the school year. The corridors were yearning for the hustle bustle of students hurrying from one class to the next, eagerly awaiting the return of the ever-prominent background noises that filled the castle with life, turning it into more than just a construction of stone, wood and magic.

A man was walking through those dead silent corridors now, his eyes sweeping out of habit over some of the darker corners that were popular hiding places for young couples in love. His steps made no sound as he moved across the corridor in a way that his students would always remember as a sort of "creepy sweeping" or "foreboding glide". His eyes fell onto the statue of a one-eyed witch and he bristled slightly, picking up his pace. Soon he arrived at a landing that oddly enough had neither a balcony nor stairs connecting it to one of the lower levels. He sighed, sounding irritated and tapped his foot, quietly commanding: "Come here."

A soft rumbling could be heard and a magnificent marble staircase connected to the landing from the left. He smirked and descended the stairs, making his way towards the castle's dungeons, following first this corridor, then that aisle, walking down another flight of stairs, seemingly popping up at random. His surroundings got cooler and darker; the dungeons of Hogwarts had never been the most cheerful of places, yet it did have a certain charm and warmth which – in his opinion – the Ravenclaw wing and the Gryffindor tower seemed to lack more so than the Huffelpuff habitat. The man eventually stopped at a portrait, showing a forest clearing with a lake in broad daylight – looking horribly misplaced in the dark, gloomy dungeons. He examined the picture for a moment then called out for its occupant, examining his hands as he waited for her to answer his call.

After a while a beautiful woman stepped into the picture, her face flushed and her chest heaving (he was fairly sure it wasn't from her haste to meet him but rather from other exercises she had indulged in).

"Password?" she asked, smiling slightly and he answered "Chimera," keeping his voice calm and neutral.

The woman nodded and the portrait swung open, admitting Severus Snape into his living quarters. He heard the portrait close the passage behind him and noticed that Lilaea, the guardian, had settled into another picture of a clearing (sans lake this time) that hung just over his fireplace. He knew that she expected him to tell her something - preferably what course of action he would take now that he was no longer useful to the order; his days as a spy were over – he had personally seen to that – and to his own surprise it didn't feel as good as he had thought it would.

He moved around the room, discarding his cloak and robes and flicked his wand lazily towards the small kitchenette, where his teapot poured him a steaming cup of tea while a plate filled itself with random snacks. He groaned softly as he worked the kinks out of his neck, his gaze dropping onto a turned over picture frame. Picking it up he stared at the image it held blankly, then set it back down so that the photograph would once again face the wooden shelf it had rested on.

"Still not enough," he murmured to himself, turning away.

The teacup and the plate had floated into his living room, settling down on a small table next to a rather old looking armchair, in which Severus now took seat, guiding the tea cup to his lips to take a cautious sip, all the while ignoring the woman in the painting who seemed to be dying of curiosity.

Her clear blue eyes followed his every move, darting to his lips to catch every word her ears might not be able to pick up. She coughed softly to attract his attention. Severus picked up his spoon to stir the tea once then took a sip of it.

"Nymphs are very curious by nature," the woman finally sputtered and Snape smiled against his tea cup.

"Oh?" he said, feigning surprise.

"Yes," the woman said with empathy. He took another sip of tea. "Nymphs always need to know what's going on," she continued and Severus Snape inclined his head slightly to show he understood, all the while smiling against the warm china pressed against his lips. The nymph gave him a mock-angry glare then suddenly turned away, making a sound that sounded much like 'hmpht'.

"Tell me when you're done acting like Dumbledore," she huffed. Snape froze and then shook his head.

"I told Lucius that I'm a spy," he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The nymph whipped around.

"You did what!" she all but yelled.

"I told him that I'm a spy for the Order of the Phoenix," Severus repeated, his voice just as calm as before. The nymph looked at him in disbelief. "I offered him to join the order, too," he continued, his voice taking a distant ring as he remembered Lucius last words yet again.

"_The day I join forces with Dumbledore is the day my son declares his undying love for a mudblood!"_

"Does Dumbledore know about that?" the nymph asked and Severus nodded his head yes.

"_Well, Severus, I can definitely understand where you are coming from. Of course your decision to… confess has made this whole affair much more difficult for us. Voldemort will surely be trying to search you out once he hears of your betrayal. You might have to go into hiding…"_

"_I won't hide."_

"_You…"_

"_I won't hide, headmaster."_

"_I… understand. How did Mr. Malfoy react to your confession?"_

"_He sent me my way."_

"_Nothing else?"_

"… _Nothing else."_

"And what are you going to do now?" the nymph interrogated. Severus' head snapped up as if surprised to find her still there.

He lowered his gaze to his cup for a moment, pondering his reply. What could he do now that he was no longer a useful spy for the order? How would he be of any assistance in the upcoming war?

Snape shuddered slightly. "I think I will go to sleep. Goodnight, Lilaea," he said and set the cup down, having totally forgotten about the untouched plate of food, and rose from his chair to step into his bedroom, closing the door behind himself.

"You really need some help with your communication skills," Lilaea muttered.

ooo

Severus Snape did go to bed immediately, however, sleep did not come. His head was spinning with thoughts and none of them held still long enough for him to grasp and contemplate it. Severus hated it when his mind took a part-time job as a merry-go-round; where was the cool logic he always prided himself on having? Probably ripping off the tickets of a few thoughts that were standing in line for the next round.

Eventually he heaved himself out of bed, somewhat annoyed, and lit a candle. If sleep had no intentions of coming to him, who was he to refuse a perfectly good night of thinking? His mind went back to the conversation he had had with Dumbledore earlier that evening.

The old headmaster had voiced neither disappointment nor criticism when Snape had told him about his confession to Lucius Malfoy (unlike Minerva McGonagall, who saw fit to break into an annoying rant about responsibility and loyalty – when would that woman learn that he was no longer a student of hers but a grown man and a professor to boot) and his decision to step down from the perilous position of a spy. Of course that resulted in one major drawback – namely not knowing what their enemy was up to – but Severus firmly believed that there was no longer a need for his spying services. Ironically, it had been the Dark Lord himself – eager to not let Snape escape his clutches again – that had made a spy rather superfluous by setting up a tight, two-year-plan.

Voldemort had sensed scepticism and fear among his followers; fear not of him but of the boy who was prophesied to be his downfall. Despite Harry Potter's poor performance at the Department of Mysteries a few weeks ago, the Death Eaters were openly wondering whether it was absolutely necessary for the Dark Lord to defeat the boy-who-lived in person or whether perhaps death by the hands of a loyal servant, such as Bellatrix Lestrange or Lucius Malfoy, wouldn't be just as victorious for them.

Truth was that the incidents of Voldemort's rebirth (particularly the most peculiar behaviour of his wand when duelling Potter) hadn't been forgotten; in fact, most Death Eaters doubted that the Dark Lord would be capable of taking on Harry Potter (but no one was stupid enough to say that out loud). Not for lack of will or trying, oh no, more so for lack of equipment: what use was a powerful wand if it refused to obey when you needed it the most? And of course there was the fact that none of them knew what precisely Harry Potter was capable of.

After some extensive research (Mr. Ollivander would never know how much he had helped their cause) Voldemort had realized that not only his wand was the figurative brother of Potter's, but that the boy had just about the same potential as he had had during his time at Hogwarts. That thought alone had put the Death Eaters even more on edge. Some had been on the verge of demanding that he would leave Potter to them, but he wouldn't have any of that.

Tom Marvolo Riddle had always been an ambitious person, thriving just as much on power as on competition. Harry Potter, though he had been only a baby with no political intentions to speak off, had dared to delay his ascend to power by refusing to die, costing him now 15 valuable years in which he _could_ have ruled not only Great Britain but the world. Such offence clearly demanded that he put Potter back into his place – personally!

Eventually, however, he had given in to his servants wishes (although 15 years ago that would have been unheard of) and signed a magical contract that permitted him to seek out Potter only _after_ he had finished his 7th year at Hogwarts. This was where Snape came – supposedly – into play. As Potions Master he had not only the chance to spy on Dumbledore but also to find out how 'gifted' Potter truly was – not only by means of copying his file (although the Dark Lord had voiced his desire to see that and the boy's criminal record – for a good laugh) but also by the use of various spells.

Waiting to take on Potter until after he finished school had also other benefits. The current 6th year of Slytherins was all too eager to join him and most of their parents that were already in his services encouraged this decision, however, they _had_ a point when claiming that it wouldn't hurt for them to finish their scholar education first.

The Dark Lord was well aware that this argument was born from the wish to keep their children safe as long as possible, but, as the he had grudgingly admitted, he himself had been able to enjoy a full 7 years of schooling under Dumbledore (even if he had only been another teacher back then) and one had to hand it to the old fool: under his reign the school sure had produced its fair share of exceptionally skilled wizards and witches that might have otherwise ended up being 'average' at best.

It also meant two years of Death Eater training for those that had just finished Hogwarts and a respectable year of training for those that would finish next year. Voldemort was painfully aware that he would need more than just a handful of capable wizards to seize power. Of course the giants were now his allies and yes, he was looking forward to sending the Dementors into battle but with the ministry aware of his return and Aurors constantly on the lookout for him and his minions, Voldemort felt that some good old-fashioned spell work might just be able to tip the scales in his favour. Such was the 'great' plan of He-who-must-not-be-named.

Severus shook his head. Now, in his dimly lit bedroom with his bare feet touching the cool stone floor and the candle light casting dancing shadows over the walls, that plan sounded utterly ridiculous but a few weeks ago, when they had been in the Dark Lord's lair those very words had sounded deadly and brilliant, almost ingenious. With a sudden pang of guilt he realized that it had always been like that.

Hearing the words from the Dark Lord himself had made them seem so right. When the Dark Lord said that all muggle-born witches and wizards (Severus had long since stopped using the term 'mudbloods') should be eliminated, then he was right. Even now Snape still felt an odd righteousness when listening to the Dark Lord planning to raid a muggle village. They deserved to die, to suffer – just the way he had suffered, just the way he had died, slowly, by their hands. It was right! It was fair! It was the way things were supposed to be - at least when the Dark Lord proclaimed it. Later on, Severus would wake up and be horrified of what he had done.

It was somewhat as if he were drunk; drunk on the feeling of having found his spot in life; drunk on the sensation of being in control; drunk on the knowledge that he was _worthy_. He had acquired himself a position that _no one_ could take away from him. Not his father, not James Potter, not Sirius Black, no mudblood, no muggle; no one could take that position away from him as long as he sided with the Dark Lord. But after the high, reality came crashing back down on him, crushing him with its weight and brutally beating him to the ground. And then the after-effects of his little trip would settle in – no hang-over potion would ever be able to make _those_ endurable – and he would feel disgusted with himself, even more unworthy and even more lost in life than before.

He would stand in front of his mirror and look himself dead in the eye, only to find that he couldn't stand the sight of the man before him, let alone hold eye-contact. How pathetic was a man that couldn't even hold eye-contact with his own reflection?

Serving the Dark Lord had had one crucial benefit, however, which Severus hadn't wanted to give up for a long time. Even after he had realized that the road he was following only let to an early grave and how much he actually wanted to live – despite of not having a firm spot in life to call his own – he hadn't been willing to let got of it. For the first time, Severus Snape had been in the company of people _without_ feeling lonely, hadn't been shunned. He had – tentatively at first – made 'friends'. Never had he thought he would live to see the day where he would enter a room and feel welcomed.

Severus' mind led him back to Malfoy Manor. He realized that telling Lucius the truth had been a mistake – friendship or no friendship, he had endangered everything the order had worked so hard on achieving and to his own astonishment he found that, at one point, he had been well aware of that. Nevertheless he had ignored the tiny voice that had tried to stop him. His logical mind took a break from the ticket line to analyze what he had done.

Strangely enough, when the gravity of his actions finally caught up with him, he didn't feel the slightest bit guilty. He knew he should be regretting his actions, but he didn't. No regret. It amazed him to no end and for a while, he just sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the flickering shadows until suddenly realization dawned on him and he felt himself smiling, no longer astonished at his own lack of guilty emotions, because suddenly it was absolutely clear to him that he couldn't have done anything else _but_ confess to his friend. It had been his last chance to attempt to avoid the (now sadly) unavoidable. The next time they met, they would face off as enemies.

By now, Lucius Malfoy would be safely hidden somewhere. He had allowed himself the luxury of a last meal with his family and closest friends. Although 'friend' was more like it – except Severus and the Malfoy's there hadn't been anyone else present.

Narcissa Malfoy had done her best to appear cheerful, to keep up the façade of the perfect hostess, but no matter how hard she tried, Severus had recognized the panicked expression in her eyes, had noticed the slight shaking of her hands as she passed him the bread, her eyes darting to her husband every few seconds to ensure the he was still sitting in his seat.

Lucius on the other hand had been calm and collected. He looked every bit the adventurer who would leave his cosy home to hunt some hidden treasure in a far away place somewhere out there and was literally soaking up the feeling of being surrounded by his loved ones – not a single thought wasted on how this was the last time they had a chance to sit together like this or when they would have such a chance again _ever_.

And Draco? It had pained Snape to see the boy so torn between admiration and longing. Of course, Draco Malfoy was prone to follow into his father's footsteps. All his life he had been taught that there was no greater pleasure than serving under the Dark Lord. The power the he had been told to crave – which he did crave – he would obtain through servitude.

"_The day I join forces with Dumbledore is the day my son declares his undying love for a mudblood!"_

He got to his feet and started pacing the room. He still wasn't willing to give up this friendship! He would find a way to force Lucius Malfoy to join the order. He simply had to.

Not many people knew that – although cold on the outside – the Malfoy's were in fact a loving family like any other; they simply chose not to display their love for another in public. No one ever saw the Queen of England give her two grandsons a hug in public or even kiss them motherly, there was always that air of polite indifference around them and Snape knew that the Malfoy's were very much the same – the lack of public display didn't mean that there was no love in the family. He knew though that Lucius found it highly amusing to hear people's opinion on his family life – whether it was the audacious idea that he enjoyed manhandling his wife and son or something as far fetched as Narcissa being not his wife but in fact his illegitimate child which he had married to cover his slip-up and had then impregnated to keep the blood-line pure; the more outrageous the theories were, the better (even the Malfoy family enjoyed a good laugh every now and then).

And then, suddenly, it was all perfectly clear. Lucius himself had said it. A mudblood, a muggle-born witch; Draco in love with a muggle-born witch, no longer able to follow his father into the services of the Dark Lord and Lucius unable to obey that one command that stood between his only child and certain death.

Severus strode out of his bedroom and headed straight for his desk as the flames in his fireplace sprung to live.

"'s it already time 'o get up?" Lilaea asked sleepily, but received no answer. She yawned, stretching luxuriously and then peered at Snape curiously. "What are you doing?" she asked the potions master as he began to jot down a list.


	3. Crawling up a hill

**Author's Note:**

Here I am again with a new chapter. This one was quite difficult to write because it just didn't 'feel' right. I think I re-wrote this 6 or 7 times, but now I'm finally happy with it.

I'd be eternally grateful for any constructive criticism, so don't hesitate to say when something irks you.

Other than that I do hope you will enjoy this chapter.

Insanely yours,

Pace

Chapter revised: 2005-12-01

Inspiration: 'Crawling up a hill' by Katie Melua

**Matchmaker**

_Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match.  
Find me a find; Catch me a catch.   
Matchmaker, matchmaker, look through your book  
and make me the perfect match._

- From "Fiddler on the Roof" (musical)

Chapter 2 – Crawling up a hill 

The sun rose once again over Flamborough Head, gleaming golden. It mercilessly drove away the shadows of the night and the sweet oblivion it brought him. Draco Malfoy sighed deeply, although it was a very unmalfoy-ish thing to do.

His father had been gone for three weeks now. Three weeks in which neither he nor his mother knew where he was; three weeks in which all they _had_ known was that he hadn't fallen into the hands of the ministry (the _Daily Prophet_ surely wouldn't have missed that); three weeks in which Draco had been the lord of Malfoy Manor and responsible for the family's fortune and possessions, a role he had been prepared to take over all his live, but now found himself struggling with; he felt he wasn't doing it any justice.

Carefully, Draco pushed the window open and inhaled deeply; a salty breeze greeted him, tickling his nose. Scotland was nice, the landscape was amazing, but nothing could compare to mornings at the East Yorkshire Coast. The sound of the waves rushing towards the shore as seagulls were sailing on the salty breeze (rarely quietly) and distant specks of brilliant white – the sails of tiny fishing boats – brushed against the glowing sky, would appear romantic or maybe even somewhat corny to some onlookers, but to Draco, this view was simply "home".

How people could live happily without the fickle ocean nearby was beyond him – the rocky coast of Flamborough Head was his home, his pride and his joy and Draco couldn't picture himself living anywhere else. Well maybe Thornwick Bay or Danes Dyke, but those were nearby, not even half an hour of flight away.

The nearest town – full of muggles, mind you – was Bridlington. When he had been younger, Draco had been tutored in etiquette by an old witch that came to Malfoy Manor from Bridlington every day. She'd always complain about the muggles; about how loud their cars and motorbikes were and how they swarmed the whole town like a plague. And as if it weren't enough that there were muggles _living_ all over the place, there were also muggles from _other towns_ _coming to see Bridlington_! She had never tired of telling Draco that muggles were "the sin and the evil of the world" and in turn, he had never forgotten it.

Often, she would tell him that there was only one thing worse than a muggle and that was a _mudblood_; because they claimed to be as much as a witch or wizard as anyone else but failed to see that they were in fact only muggles with a feeble talent for magic. How could they dare to declare themselves equal to the noble pureblood families? They didn't know the ways of the Magical Community, the do's and don'ts of magic and etiquette that were one of the many reasons why wizards were above muggles. All one had to do was to look at the way they dressed, for Merlin's sake!

Draco smirked at the memory. It was true that mudbloods dressed differently in their spare time. At Hogwarts, you could pick them out easily, especially on weekends – most of them were glad to shed their robes and exchange them for jeans and sweaters, shorts and T-shirts, things called "tube tops" that he personally found quite intriguing and obscenely short skirts (the girls anyway). Pansy or Millicent (or any other self-respecting pureblood witch) wouldn't be caught dead in those "clothes", but many an hour had been spent in the Slytherin common room discussing the strange fashion of the muggles and how it was rarely decent or appropriate for wearing in public.

The young man sighed again. Breakfast would be served soon and a landlord's schedule didn't leave much time for dawdling and daydreaming – and neither did that of his son.

When his father had left, he had given Draco very clear instructions. He was to take care of the mansion and the family name the same way he would if he could be there; he was to look after his mother, who didn't seem to be taking the separation well; and he was to continue the lessons he had asked to be given after completing the first half of his second year.

He dressed quietly and quickly, tying his hair with a sleek black ribbon in the nape of his neck. He had stopped cutting it off a while ago and it had grown well past his shoulders. It made him look even more like his father and in the past week Draco had found this fact to be strangely comforting – although he would never admit that to anyone, just as he would never admit that every night before he fell asleep, he dreaded the moment he would eventually wake up again. A house elf entered his room and he turned around and left without a second glance.

He had a rather harsh schedule: first answering the mail (the absence of Lucius Malfoy didn't mean that people stopped writing to ask for money or offered their services to the Malfoy family and doing the correspondence always required several hours of careful phrasing and accurate calculating), then breakfast with his mother (it was the only time of the day he'd have the chance to just sit and enjoy her presence), then he had his first lesson for the day (dancing lessons – he had never asked for those but his parents deemed them necessary), followed immediately by lunch (all alone in that huge dining room), several hours of tutoring in Arithmancy, Charms and Transfiguration came right after that, ending at quarter to five which was the time when Lucius had usually taken his afternoon tea.

On the first day, right after his father had gone into hiding, a house elf had placed a tray with tea and 3 biscuits (that Lucius never ate but oddly enough insisted on) on his desk. Draco had stared at the tray as if it were something monstrous; no one had told the house elves _not_ to serve Lucius' afternoon tea because he was no longer there.

Draco had taken the cup with shaking hands, spilling the hot liquid it held and had thrown it against the nearest wall, overwhelmed by sudden anger and pain. He had stormed out of the study jabbing his wand into the general direction of his bedroom (to hell with the decree of Underage Wizard Magic) and had summoned his broom; it had reached him the moment he stepped out of the mansion, his mother trailing closely behind him to ask what was wrong, and he had mounted it immediately and took off without as much as a single word.

Here at the coast, the wind was treacherous; one second you were riding on a soft breeze, the next you were being thrown off your broom by a vicious gust of air that would appear without any forewarning. It was an excellent training for his flying skills (no matter what that Hooch woman said, Draco knew he could fly, fly like the devil in fact if he needed to) but if Draco weren't familiar with the fickle winds of the area, flying off without a thought would have been actually quite dangerous.

He would do this every day right after he had finished his tutoring: take his broom, kick off the ground hard and soar through the air, flying as if a madman were after him, trying to lose himself in the feel of the wind tugging on his robes and hair as he sped over the ocean and rocky coastline.

The only damper was that the East Yorkshire Coast no longer was an area populated entirely by wizards, as it had been in the 9th century, when the Danes (actually Danish wizards, among whom his ancestors had been) had settled down here, which meant that the Malfoy heir actually had to pay more mind to the possibilities of muggles spotting him than he would have liked to; a nuisance, really.

After his afternoon 'fun' he would return to his father's study to prepare for the following day, reply to some more mail then study for school and finally go to sleep some time after midnight, consequently skipping supper. It wasn't exactly the way he pictured his vacation and he was looking forward to his return to Hogwarts when at least the burden of being head of the Malfoy family would be (temporarily) lifted from his shoulders, if nothing else.

And so it was again today that Draco stepped into his father's study to be greeted by one of the family's house elves and a stack of letters all of which he intended to have at least read by the time he would join his mother for breakfast.

In the past, all of the family's correspondence had went through Lucius' hands first just as now every letter, no matter whether it was addressed to his parents or himself, would go through Draco's. His letters had never been given to him already opened, but his father liked to know who the family was having contact with and he himself had never found this to be disturbing or a violation of his privacy. Sometimes, his father would casually say something like 'That Ms Parkinson sure writes often. She fancies you?' or 'You haven't received a letter from Crabbe and Goyle all summer… did the three of you have a falling out of some sorts?' which was his way of showing that he was actually interested in his son's life.

Wearing his trademark scowl, Draco sat behind his father's desk and began to sort through the mail; some were letters from his friends and he set them aside to read later – business had to come first. There were a few letters from 'former' business partners of his father expressing their concern that the contracts they had made with Lucius would actually be honoured (he had received quite a few of those), invitations to social gatherings he had decided the Malfoy family would refrain from attending for a while and the occasional plea for money - he was quite disgusted when he realized that only one of those had been send by some charity organization and the rest were actually the pleas of former 'family friends' who didn't know or understand the meaning of a simple phrase such as "Waste not."

There were three letters however, that piqued Draco's curiosity: one wore the crest of the Ministry of Magic, one he recognized to have been sent from his school and the third was suspiciously flashy, the envelope kept changing colour and the address (Mr Draco Malfoy; Malfoy Manor; Flamborough Head; East Yorkshire Coast) morphed into various different font styles that adjusted its colour to be noticeable against the ever-changing background of the envelope.

After a moment of contemplation he decided to open the flashy looking envelope first. The letter (he was somewhat grateful that it was written on regular parchment with regular green ink) proofed to be a request for an interview with a columnist of '_Teen Magic_', a magazine that he knew Pansy and Millicent couldn't live without, which he had never read, however. Alright, so there might have been that one time at Pansy's birthday where he had been utterly bored and desperate, but other than that…

The second letter, the one he had received from Hogwarts, contained his booklist and prefect's badge – he had been asked to return it at the end of term, but so had been all other prefects as well. Snape had assured him he would get it back and that Dumbledore merely wished for a re-designing of the badges (absolute nonsense in Draco's opinion – things that were supposed to give you authority and power didn't have to be fashionable) and now that Draco saw the result of this 're-designing' he couldn't help but think that the old headmaster had _ruined_ a perfectly handsome prefect badge. Before the badge had been made of shiny silver with an emerald green 'P' (for Slytherin) on it; the new badge, however, was round and divided into quarters, each quarter colored for one of the school's houses. On the green quarter of the badge there was a monochrome snake coiling around the foot of the also monochrome letter 'P', the image being created solely by the green background or (in some places) of the lack of it. He snorted and put the badge and booklist into the top drawer, then opened the last letter.

His stomach clenched slightly as he broke the seal. A letter from the Ministry of Magic was bad news if your father was a Death Eater on the run. He read the letter once then re-read it to make sure and then read it a third time, out loud, for good measure. The content didn't change (much to his dismay) and Draco immediately set to copy the letter so he could send it to his lawyers. With a quick glance out of the window he realized that it was almost time for breakfast and while copying the letter he contemplated whether he should tell his mother about it or not.

ooo

Hermione Granger was enjoying her summer vacation just as much as Draco Malfoy was enjoying his – although neither of them knew that. She had had a rather huge fight with her father concerning her return to the Order of Phoenix and Hogwarts altogether.

Dr Andrew Granger had been, to put it mildly, not exactly overjoyed when his daughter and a somewhat shabby and tired looking wizard (he had introduced himself as Remus Lupin) had told him of what was currently happening in the Magical Community. When he realized that Hermione could have died during her little trip to the Department of Mysteries his paternal instincts had kicked in full force. Unfortunately these very instincts usually managed to switch off his brain the moment they sprung into action and so he stubbornly ignored Hermione's arguments and her claims that keeping her at home would endanger her as well as her parents.

Instead, he had thanked the wizard for his visit and asked him to tell the headmaster that Hermione would return to neither Hogwarts nor the order and then proceeded to giving Hermione the grounding of a life time.

So now she was stuck in her room, grounded, as I already said, with only Crookshanks to keep her company. Her father had locked her wand and books somewhere in the basement and Hermione now had a vague idea of what summers must have felt like for Harry when having to stay with his muggle-relatives. She sighed and buried her face in Crookshanks' ginger fur.

Harry. Last summer had been quite hard on Harry – he had had to deal with the death of Cedric Diggory (they had never been close enough to be friends but Hermione knew that Harry had blamed himself for Cedric's demise), a Dementor attack and a disciplinary trial, not to mention being isolated from his friends for most of the summer and having no information on what was happening in the magical community in the weeks to follow his witnessing of the Dark Lord's return.

And now Harry's birthday was only 2 days away and Hermione couldn't think of anything but how he must be feeling in the wake of his godfather's death (for which, no doubt, Harry would again blame himself), his approaching birthday and the inevitable return to Hogwarts in 4-weeks-time. Briefly she wondered whether her friends knew of her current predicament. Neither of them had written to her all summer and seeing how she had no owl herself she couldn't send them a letter, either. It was times like these when she felt a slight tinge of regret for not having bought an owl in her third year when she had had a chance to although her mother positively adored Crookshanks and having a cat for a pet certainly didn't require any explanations to her relatives.

Laughter floated up to Hermione's open window and feeling disturbed in her gloomy thoughts she shut it with a loud bang, sending a dark look at her father who didn't seem to notice as he was currently telling one of their neighbours a joke. Normally, Hermione wouldn't pass up a chance to enjoy the annual block party, but today she simply refused to play the perfect little daughter for her parents. After all, she wasn't perfect so why bother to pretend?

Ever since she had been grounded, she had tried to argue with her father. Hermione had been smart enough not to go out and discuss Hogwarts openly – her father would have blocked any argument beginning with the words "Dad, about Hogwarts…" in less than a half nanosecond. Instead she had brought the matter up during times when his guard was down and there was a chance he might actually register her argument, which was usually Thursday nights when the family sat down to watch a movie together.

They had watched "The court jester" (an old comedy taking place in medieval England which had always been Hermione's favourites movie) and the cowardly and clumsy Hubert Hawkins had just received his first "real" task for the rebels, when Hermione had sighed "Admirable," to herself.

"Why yes, it's always admirable when someone decides to fight for a cause he or she believes in," her father had said.

Sensing her chance, Hermione had replied: "Lucky Hawkins then". Her father had turned half in his seat to look at her.

"Why lucky?" he asked surprised.

"He's got no parents that stop him from doing it," she had answered evenly and had excused herself to bed before her father had had a chance to respond.

Another time they were watching "West Side Story" (the Grangers loved musicals) and Hermione had somehow managed to compare the roof scene (Bernardo's and Anita's little 'sing-off') with her situation as a witch that would like to act like one but couldn't because she wasn't allowed to attend Hogwarts. Apparently her mother had liked that argument very much because the next day Hermione found her Potions and Arithmancy books between her ironed laundries.

The next time the family sat down to watch a movie (Elisabeth Granger had taken it onto herself to rent a few for them to pick from, conveniently choosing movies like '_The Untouchables_', '_Last Man Standing'_, '_The Blues Brothers_' and '_The wizard of Oz'_), Andrew Granger had frowned at the selection, sending a dark glance at his wife.

"So you're on her side now, too," he had said accusingly and then retreated to his study. Hermione's mother had smiled at the young witch and had said: "Don't worry, honey, we'll get him eventually."

Then she had fetched two bowls with ice cream, strawberries, chocolate sauce and whipped cream and mother and daughter had watched 'Pretty Woman' for probably the millionth time together.

Through the closed window, Hermione could still hear laughter from the streets and she groaned in frustration. How was one supposed to grief and sulk properly when there were people just outside your window creating enough buzzing, happy noises that were as infectious as the measles?

Grumpily, Hermione trudged down the stairs to get herself some lemonade, setting Crookshanks down who obediently followed her, knowing there was a treat waiting for him if he stuck around long enough for his mistress to open the fridge. The brunette stepped into the kitchen, her bare feet padding softly against the linoleum. Just as she reached for the refrigerators' handle (the same moment Crookshanks meowed pitifully and rubbed himself against her bare legs), she heard a dull knock. Hermione half turned to glance at the back door and what she saw there made her breath hitch.

ooo

It was half past six when Draco Malfoy touched down in the gardens of Malfoy Manor, demounting his broom. The harsh evening wind was whipping around him, tugging on his hair and tearing on his robes. Carefully, he examined the broom – it was quite old and the wind's ferocity had quite surprised him; he feared he might have asked too much of it when taking to it for a ride today. It seemed to be in perfect shape, however, and so Draco made his way towards the manor, ascending the great staircase and following the corridor to his left until the very end. Generations of Malfoys watched him with scrutinizing looks. Any slouch or stumble would earn him their harsh words and criticism, but for some time now, the blond wizard found it easier to move with the posture and grace demanded of him – the dancing lessons _had_ been good for something. Quietly, he stepped into a room which his mother had playfully dubbed '_the broom closet_', as it held and displayed Draco's collection of racing brooms.

Other boys would collect the Famous Witches and Wizards cards that came with Chocolate Frogs (how ordinary and dull), or whatever items were associated with their Quidditch team or favourite band, but not him. When every boy he knew simply had to have Martin Miggs comics, Draco had only wanted a broom; when the first Weird Sisters record 'Weird for you' was a must-have for every kid, Draco only wanted a broom; when everyone he knew was simply mad for Puddlemere United, Draco only wanted an autograph from the Falmouth Falcons – and one of their brooms.

Flying had been his first love; Quidditch was his mistress; that was all Draco Malfoy needed to be happy.

Carefully, the young wizard placed the broom he had been flying on two handles that were connected by a sign saying 'Silver Arrow' in bold letters as his eyes swept over his valuable collection in mute satisfaction. Next to the Silver Arrow was his Shooting Star, an original from the first batch to be produced in 1955 and the first Nimbus broom, the Nimbus 1000. Draco also possessed a Twigger 90 and a Tinderblast, as well as a Comet Two Sixty and of course the Nimbus 2001, which his father had equipped the entire Slytherin Quidditch team with when Draco had joined them. That had been in his 2nd year. It was resting in a showcase, the pale handle contrasting nicely with the green velvet pillow Draco had placed it on. There were two other showcases in the room that were empty.

Although he already owned a collection of passable racing brooms, Draco Malfoy was yearning to add two special brooms to his collection. One was the 'Moontrimmer', a broom that had been produced in 1901 for a short time and that had been highly innovative for that time – the '_mother of all racing brooms' – _the other broom, however, was the Firebolt.

It wasn't for the fact that Harry Potter owned one or for the Firebolt being the best broom available (because it wasn't), but more for the broom's collecting value. The Firebolt series would enter the third production season, soon, and afterwards, there would be no more Firebolts. It was also the broom that had been flown at his first Quidditch World Cup ever – he _had_ to have one, damn it!

Draco stepped over to a broom leaning against the grey stone wall. Its dark handle gleamed softly and the word 'Nightchaser' was engraved on it. The broom was a commission – it bore the Malfoy crest and a tiny 'E&S 001'. There would be only 100 Nightchasers and there was a waiting list. Not everyone would be fortunate enough to own such a splendid racing broom and the thought of flying it during a match at Hogwarts made Draco giddy with anticipation and excitement. Lovingly, he caressed the handle revelling in the feel of the wood's smooth warmth. He smirked. Potter's Firebolt would look like an oversized duster next to his treasure.

Satisfied with his little examination, Draco turned and left 'the broom closet' to get some more work done. He had had a house elf write standard replies to the letters of his father's business partners which only required his signature and seal; the family's lawyers had not yet responded to his letter – he had decided to inform his mother about that wretched ministry letter only after he'd read the recommendations of Messrs Petersen, Bowent and Johnson (P, B and J for short).

The only letter he still needed to write was the reply for _Teen Magic_ – it would come off as rude if he waited too long and despite his current situation, Draco wasn't willing to let go of a chance to claim the spotlight for himself. He noticed with great satisfaction that Potter had never been featured in _Teen Magic_, although he didn't know that because he regularly read that magazine or something similar; no, he knew so because Pansy would have made sure to let him know if he had been. With a somewhat happy expression Draco made his way towards his father's study, only to choke on his smile as he came face to face with 3 wizards he had only rarely met in person – Messrs Petersen, Bowent and Johnson.

ooo

Lilaea was sulking. Severus Snape had refused to tell her what he was up to and had so far blocked all her of attempts to find out just what that list said rather successfully. All she could tell for sure was that this list seemed to be much more interesting than her and Lilaea, in a typical fit of jealousy, didn't like that one bit.

Professor Snape was pacing the room, parchment in one hand, quill in the other, going through the list over and over again, crossing and adding names at random. The nymph sighed. He had been doing that for quite some time now, in fact almost the entire summer break long, so engrossed in his work that he had even forgotten their annual ritual of writing an application for the still vacant position as Defence against the Dark Arts teacher (he was convinced he'd get it eventually, she on the other hand knew that no one would hire the country's most famous Potions Master for a job that _didn't_ involve potions) and Lilaea found that slightly disturbing. What on Earth could be so intriguing that he forgot something as important as that?

"What are you doing?" she asked in a slightly whiny voice. Snape stopped his pacing and stepped in front of the fireplace, placing the parchment on top of it. Bending over, the nymph could now read a couple of upside-down names in tight, cramped yet very neat writing. Many of those names had been crossed out several times and she could barely read them, but she recognized most of them as the names of students currently attending Hogwarts. She noticed that all of them were girls who would begin their 4th, 5th and 6th year this summer, but not one of them had been sorted into Slytherin. In fact, a disturbingly high number of them seemed to be...

"Hufflepuffs? What are you doing with a list full of _Hufflepuffs_?" she asked him incredulous.

"I'm going to hook Draco Malfoy up with one of these girls," Severus answered calmly.

"I'm sorry... have you gone mental?" the nymph inquired after a moment's pause.

"I most certainly have not, I am merely preparing to do what has to be done to make Lucius join the order," he replied.

"Well in that case I am really sorry, but you indeed _have_ gone mental – hate to break it to you," she said, shaking her head.

"You don't know Lucius," Severus retorted.

"No, you don't know him."

"Which one of us is stuck inside a picture frame and thus didn't go to school with him?" he asked and Lilaea bit her lip. "Thought so," he added.

"That hurt," the nymph finally said. For a few minutes none of them spoke then the potions master softly murmured "sorry".

"He said the day he'd join Dumbledore would be the day Draco would confess his undying love to a muggle-born witch," Snape murmured eventually, crossing another name from the list.

"Who said that?" the nymph asked as if nothing had happened.

"Lucius did."

"He really said it that nicely?" she asked, looking impressed.

"No, he actually didn't but that's beside the point. It's the message that counts, not the way it is wrapped up."

"Uh-huh, right. And you're...?" Lilaea began.

"I'm going to take him by his word," Snape answered her unspoken question, nodding his head. He scribbled down another name.

"You know... I would feel a whole lot better if you'd go and see the nurse about this. You seem a little... delirious," the portrait said carefully.

"What do you mean 'delirious'?" he asked, raising his eyes to meet hers.

"Well... the words that come out of your mouth are _definitely_ English and I can understand each and every single one of them, but when you string them together to a sentence I'm afraid they don't make _any_ sense." Snape snorted.

"Thank you very much for your concern, but I feel fine," he replied, picking up the parchment and turning away from the fire place. The nymph frowned.

"I didn't mean it that way," she said. "Well... yes I did, but ... don't go all sulky now!"

But Severus didn't hear her. "Hmm... Sally-Anne Perks. Who was that again?" he wondered aloud.

"That's the one who wrote that Gillyweed is most frequently found in the Sahara Desert," Lilaea tossed in.

"Hell no," Snape said and crossed her from the list. The nymph sighed.

"Why don't you just brew a love potion... let's say Love Potion No. 9, let Draco have some and then set him up with some random witch?" she asked.

"No potions, Lilaea. No spells or talismans either. I want it to be the real thing," Severus replied.

"The real thing? Well in that case, shouldn't you be starting out with someone he _cares_ for?" the nymph inquired.

"Haven't you been paying attention? I said Draco as in 'my godson Draco'. He doesn't care – not for any muggle-born witches anyway," he snapped.

"There are different kinds of caring," the nymph stated smugly. "You for example care a lot for James Potter and Sirius Black," she said.

"No I don't. I hate them, both of them, and you know that!" Severus replied vehemently.

"See. You care enough to hate them," came the triumphant reply from the portrait. The potions master's eyes darted from the smiling nymph to the list.

"You mean instead of hooking him up with someone he's presently indifferent to I ought to pick someone he... hates?" he asked cautiously.

"Exactly."

"Well, that narrows the field of competitors down considerably," Snape said after checking through a mental list of all females he knew Draco hated with a passion, most of whom he had already put on his list. He sighed and began crossing the other names.

"Who?" the portrait asked.

"These," he said through grit teeth as he held the list out for the nymph to read.

"Well I guess we have a winner," she laughed but Severus Snape didn't feel like laughing at all.


	4. Reality

**A/N: **Well, it did take me some time but finally the third chapter is done. I was wondering how far I could go into the actual plot (yes, I'm looking just as much forward to it as you guys are), but soon had to realize that wasn't yet possible because I hadn't introduced HER (gasp!). Mind you, I haven't written much about her in this chapter, only laid the foundation for her entry in chapter 4, which I think will immediately start off with the new term. But where are my manners? I can bore you to death after you've read this chapter, too, so I'll just do that and cease my insolent babbling now.

Enjoy!

Insanely yours,

Pace

Chapter revised: 2005-12-01

Inspiration: 'Reality' by Dionne Ferris

**Matchmaker**

_Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match.  
Find me a find; Catch me a catch.   
Matchmaker, matchmaker, look through your book  
and make me the perfect match._

- From "Fiddler on the Roof" (musical)

**Chapter 3 – Reality**

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley stared intently at the fireplace, waiting for the flames to turn into a brilliant shade of green, as they had been doing for the past four and a half hours. Occasionally, Ginny Weasley would step into the living room to join them, but after a few moments she would sigh and lament about the injustice of it all, which would earn her a hard look from either her brother or his best friend and she would leave the room again, feeling unwelcome.

Of course Harry and Ron agreed wholeheartedly: it was absolutely unfair that Hermione, the brightest witch to attend Hogwarts in the last century (in their humble, anger-biased opinion anyway), was to remain hauled up in the muggle world because her father seemed to think he could protect her against the rise of the Dark Lord more efficiently than someone else – like a quite capable and powerful wizard by the name of Albus Dumbledore, for instance.

It was also unfair because they _needed_ her – not only to proof read their essays or ask her for help with their homework (though that was a nice side effect of being friends with her), but to be _there_. They were a unit, a team, a magical version of Alexandre Dumas' infamous musketeers (which had yet to find a suitable D'Artagnan); they belonged together like a seeker, his broom and the golden snitch!

The separation – which still seemed to be permanent unless that fire would flash green this instance and Hermione would step out of it – had taken its toll on the two young wizards who were both still caught in the wake of their last 'adventure', if one might even be able to call it like that. Personally, Harry though that 'stupidity' might be a more suitable way of phrasing it.

His curiosity, his thick-headedness, his pride and his godforsaken recklessness had cost Sirius Black, the closest thing to a parent Harry Potter could have ever have had, his life. The guilt weighed on him as heavy as the task he had realized would be his to complete. And with the guilt came the questions and the blame.

Why hadn't he told Snape of what he had seen? Because he had been ashamed for violating the professor's privacy when plunging his head into that pensieve. Because his father had been just as bad, if not even worse, as he had been told by the sourly Potions Master over and over again and he was ashamed for his father's actions. Because Snape would have known that he, Harry, hadn't practiced Occlumency at all, had never bothered to do as he had been told to, had never once, not even when he had still received lessons, cleared his mind and attempted to protect himself from Voldemort's mental attacks; because he simply hadn't thought of it. Because he had been too proud, too thick-headed – how often had he mentally scoffed at Hermione when she insisted that Snape was trustworthy (why else would Dumbledore trust him)?

And he had paid the price.

But with the knowledge that all this was his fault – more so his own, he had realized, than Dumbledore's, although he would have loved to place more of the blame on the old wizard – came also the realization of mortality.

Sirius had died. Sirius, whom he had loved so much, had simply died. Snuffed out like a too bright candle. Who would be the next one to loose his or her life because Harry Potter insisted on being a reckless brat? Who would be the one paying the price for him getting into trouble the next time? Dumbledore? Remus Lupin? Tonks? Mr. Weasley? Ron? Hermione?

The thought chilled the boy-who-lived to the core; the thought of _their_ mortality, the thought of the moment their eyes would turn dull and hollow as their bodies lost warmth, their precious life leaking out of them, filled his mind with angry panic. How was he to protect them? How was he to ensure their safety? How could he prevent something similar from happening again?

All those questions and what-if's that occupied his mind, the agonizing pain and blood-chilling fear of loss that kept him from thinking straight had formed a chaos in his head that had started to settle down, rooting itself in his persona to slowly take over. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't sort things out, couldn't place anything anywhere because it was so hard to separate the pain, the fear and the uncertainties and he simply knew he wouldn't manage it on his own, he needed help.

The adult members of the Order of Phoenix treaded carefully around Harry; as if afraid they might scare a wild animal. Even Mrs. Weasleey, who had drawn him into a suffocating hug when he had finally arrived at the order's new headquarters (Grimauld Place was no longer an option as Kreachers wasn't bound to any of them and thus could bring all their plans to the attention of the Dark Lord – provided he'd allow them to actually enter the house again) kept her distance from the black-haired wizard. The only one not scared by the wild look in his friend's eyes and the uncharacteristically harsh tone of voice was Ron and his presence helped to keep Harry's demons at bay, if only barely. But to face them, to look each and every one in the eye, to admit his mistakes and _accept_ them, he needed more than Ron's silent support.

ooo

"Mister Malfoy," Mr. Petersen said, nodding his head. His two partners remained silent.

"Gentlemen," Draco said in a voice that belied his current state of surprise, nodding his head in a curt greeting as well. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw his mother, dressed in pale, cream-colored robes, sweeping towards him elegantly to place a kiss on either of his cheeks.

"Mother," he said more softly, mirroring her actions. A soft cough could be heard and Draco's attention immediately snapped back to his guests.

"But please, do sit down," he said amiably, gesturing at a couple of armchairs near the fireplace, leading his mother to the chair his father usually occupied. "Would you care for some refreshments?" the young man continued and before any of the lawyers could reply, a house elf popped up, looking rather expectantly.

"I believe a cup of tea would be nice, don't you?" Narcissa Malfoy asked and an affirmative murmur met her ears. Draco nodded to the elf which immediately vanished.

Silence was thundering in the blond wizard's ears. He noted that his father's lawyers didn't look as if the news they were bringing would be good ones. In fact, they looked as if they didn't want to be there in the first place. They weren't going to end their business relations, where they? He pushed that thought away vigorously. No one severed ties with a Malfoy – it didn't matter whether the Malfoy in question was Lucius Malfoy himself or his 16 years old son. His family was a force to be reckoned with and if these shysters knew what was good for them, they'd make sure to stay on his good side.

The house elf returned, serving Narcissa and the lawyers a cup of tea each, placing a plate with delicious-looking treats (he ached to pick one up and pop it into his mouth) on the centre of the small table around which the chairs were grouped. Draco noted with satisfaction that it hadn't brought him pumpkin juice or butterbeer. It was important that these men saw him as an equal and not as a meek substitute for his father - having pumpkin juice or a butterbeer during a meeting such as this might well be capable of undermining his efforts. He suddenly realized he hadn't sent his mother away and was starting to regret it –it felt as if it were reducing him to a little boy clinging to her robes.

Draco had opted to stand next to the chair of his mother rather than sitting down, knowing that while standing he was a good deal taller than his guests; it also allowed him a much better view of each of them. The blond wizard waited for them to become comfortable (as comfortable as the occasion would allow them to become) and just as Mr. Johnson was reaching for one of the delicate treats on the plate, he said calmly: "I assume you are here because of the letter I sent you this morning."

Mr. Johnson jumped slightly and his hand retreated from the plate. He placed it on his armrest, casting a shy glance to his partners. Mr. Bowent seemed to have expected something like that because he was smiling slightly and Mr. Petersen was openly sizing Draco up.

"Remarkably, I must say," he finally said. "Your father has taught you well."

Mr. Petersen took a sip from his tea then placed the cup gingerly on the table to rise out of his seat. He was tall, almost as tall as Lucius, and he had well-kempt, wavy grey hair, that fell loosely to his back. His strong jaw and receding hair line gave his face an almost aristocratic look that was unfortunately ruined by his chubby, red nose. Still Mr. Petersen was an impressive man who knew how to carry himself in a way that left no doubt about why he was one of the best lawyers in the entire Magical Community.

"Indeed, that is why we are here," Mr. Petersen said, his tone of voice shifting to cool professionalism. "You are of course aware that the situation is quite serious. Your father's regrettable decisions to return to the Dark Side and his ah… shall we say unwillingness to abide in Azkaban have undoubtedly put the Malfoy family 'on the spot', if you excuse my colloquial wording. As the officials are now fully aware of the return of He-who-must-not-be-named they are naturally looking for allies, especially among the old pureblood families whom have had ties with Him in the past, such as yourselves. It is our believe, however, that as long as you, Mr. Malfoy, as the current head of the Malfoy family, pledge allegiance to the ministry, no evil shall befall your family from that side."

Narcissa's questioning gaze was met with Draco's apologetic one. "The ministry has informed me today that in regard to recent political developments we will have to face several examinations," he said quietly. His mother's eyes widened. "A failure to comply on our part can result in anything from house-arrest to a disowning of the Malfoy family."

"Of course none of that is remotely close to happening, Mrs. Malfoy," Mr. Bowent hurriedly assured the shocked witch in front of him. "The ministry won't take any actions against you or your son as long as you are willing to cooperate. As for your husband…" he said delicately, "we are not sure whether him being under the influence of the Imperius Curse will in some way soften the ministry in regard to his past and future actions." Draco felt a heavy weight being lifted from his heart, although he was careful not to show it.

"And what should we do now?" Narcissa asked, turning her still shock-widened eyes to her son. The weight that had been lifted off him by Mr. Bowent's words came crashing back down instantly, feeling even heavier than before.

"Whatever you decide on doing, Mr. Malfoy, you will have to do it soon, before you return to Hogwarts, preferably," Mr. Petersen said. His sharp green eyes bore into the younger wizard's steely grey ones.

"How…" Mr. Johnson coughed then repeated less timidly: "How have you treated the subject of your father's political orientation in public so far?" Draco met the shy wizard's gaze and was surprised to find the man shrinking back into his seat as if hoping it would swallow him. It seemed Mr. Johnson was ashamed for opening his mouth at all.

"I have in no way dealt with my father's 'political orientation', as you put it, Mr. Johnson, in public. I believed it was best for us to remain out of the spotlight for a while. Neither my mother nor I have participated in social gatherings recently and we won't do so for as long as I believe it necessary," Draco answered calmly. Mr. Petersen nodded his head and Mr. Bowent added a quiet "Wise choice".

"Have you had any contact to the press?" Mr. Petersen asked carefully and he sighed as the young wizard nodded his head.

"A magazine for teenagers has requested an interview with me. I have yet to write them my answer," Draco replied.

"Which magazine?" Mr. Johnson asked, leaning forward, much less shy than before. Without replying, the young wizard stepped over to his father's desk and picked up the letter _Teen Magic_ had sent him, handing it over to the now completely transformed Mr. Johnson.

"You haven't had any contact with the press since you have returned from Hogwarts?" the older wizard asked and received a curt nod as answer and suddenly, he smiled. It was a strange smile for a person like Mr. Johnson who had seemed so shy and almost invisible – it had predatory qualities.

"Francis?" Mr. Petersen asked carefully. There was a moment of silence and when Mr. Johnson finally raised his voice to answer, the transformation that took a hold of him whenever dealing with the press had been completed.

"I believe that we have just found a solution to your problem, Mr. Malfoy."

ooo

"Of course I understand your point of view – I would have expected no less from a man such as yourself, Dr Granger, and where Hermione's safety is concerned I must say that I agree wholeheartedly with you. What kind of man would I be if I wouldn't? Ensuring a child's safety is indeed one of the most important tasks that fall upon a parent as well as upon a teacher or mentor, and I for one have no intentions of exposing your daughter to such dangers as she faced at the Ministry of Magic ever again, if I can help it.

"I admit that it was my failure that has made it possible for Hermione and her friends to be lured so easily into a trap that could have very well resulted in your daughter's demise and the mere thought scares and angers me just as much as it must anger and scare you. I have failed to protect the most precious treasure you have trusted me with – your daughter's life – a failure which would have never occurred if I hadn't made crucial mistakes. I can only tell you how much I regret what has happened and hope that you understand that I am only human and thus cannot be perfect, thus am entitled to make mistakes.

"However, there is one thing that neither you nor I must forget, one mistake we mustn't make: we are talking about Hermione here; we are talking about a person, not about some item or some pet that cannot decide for its own.

"No matter how much we want it, neither of us has the right to lock her up in her room, to deny her the things she has a right to do. Imprisoning the one thing we love will eventually lead to its loss, for it will seek to liberate itself of forced safety regardless of the dangers it'll have to face afterwards, on its own." Dumbledore paused, looking sternly at Andrew Granger.

"And I would rather not have her wandering around on all alone because she has seen fit to flee her parent's home."

Hermione held her breath, watching both her father and her headmaster intently. The ever present twinkling in Dumbledore's blue eyes was nowhere to be found right now and her father made a quite pained face.

"Andrew," her mother said quietly, taking his hand.

"Liz," he replied softly, squeezing her hand. "I don't want my child to get hurt. I don't want to lose her. I'm scared," he admitted.

"If you didn't want me to get hurt, you shouldn't have ever had me. You shouldn't have taught me how to ride a bike – you knew I had a rotten sense of balance. But you did. I scraped a few knees, twisted my wrist once but in the end I got the hang of it and my sense of balance has improved so much ever since, don't you think?" Hermione asked.

"You shouldn't have let me make friends, either, because sometimes friends hurt you. As a matter of fact, you shouldn't have let me interact socially with anyone because people can be so cruel. Also, it might have been better then if you hadn't taught me to stick up for what I think is right; you should have never taught me that there are things worth risking everything you have," she added thoughtfully. The room fell silent.

"You don't know what you're talking about," her father eventually said, immediately regretting it.

"Yes she does, Andrew," Elisabeth Granger said matter-of-factly. "She's been there. She's faced it all and she's willing to go on because she knows it's the right thing to do."

"So you're not worried about her then when she goes off and chases some dark wizards, people that have the power to kill her, that will kill her just because you and me are 'muggles'?" her husband snapped.

"Of course I'm worried! I'm petrified of the thought of what they could do to Hermione! But if I were to protect or shield her from all the evil and all the pain in this world, well, then she's right – we might have just never have had her instead! It's impossible to protect someone from the whole world, Andrew; surely you can see that, too? Besides, it's Hermione's life we're talking about here and don't you think she should be the one making the decisions?" Elisabeth answered.

"Not if she's making the wrong ones!"

"If children were to do only what their parents thought to be right or wrong then we wouldn't be married right now, Andrew Granger! You wouldn't be a dentist, either! Who are you to say if her decisions are right or wrong anyway?"

"I'm her father, damn it! Doesn't that count for anything?"

"Of course it does," Dumbledore said gently. "But please, take a moment to think of the future, Hermione's future."

"She can become a dentist, too," Dr Granger said sullenly.

"And how should she do that?" his wife asked tensely. "You know very well that her education doesn't really count in… in our world. Which school would take her and not ask questions about the whereabouts of 5 years worth of report cards and testimonials? Or should we give them her Hogwarts grades? Are you prepared to explain to her new headmaster what Transfiguration is or what she covered in Potions and Charms?"

"You make it sound as if she belonged to an entirely different world," Andrew Granger murmured and suddenly Hermione understood what the problem was.

"That's the problem, isn't it? It's not that I've been in 'mortal danger' – I've been before and you still let me return. Reluctant, yes, but you let me return. The problem is that you think I'm no longer part of your world. You're scared I could turn my back on you and choose to life solely in the wizarding world," she said in amazement. Her father's gaze dropped to his hands

ooo

Genevieve Bontemps shifted ever so slightly from one foot to another as the man in front of her flipped through her papers. She knew it was a standard procedure but that didn't ease her tense mind one bit – Merlin, how much more time did that guy require to read her passport? He wasn't reading it letter by letter, was he? She'd like to be at Hogwarts some time before September 1st, if somehow possible.

The customs official made 'hm' and Genevieve tensed even more. He flipped back to the first page and began to compare her face with the picture it held. She forced herself to stay calm under his scrutinizing gaze, willing it to be over soon. The customs official, a wizard who looked at her as if he expected her to be He-who-must-not-be-named in disguise, tilted his head to the side as if contemplating whether the woman in the photo (who was by now frowning at him) was the same one as the one standing in front of him, smiling nervously.

Genevieve tried to see herself the way he had to be seeing her: a brunette witch with dark blue eyes that was sporting a nice tan (her photo-self's skin was a healthy peach) that wasn't exactly tall – 159.5 cm, always insisting on that half centimetre – but appeared to be at least 164 cm; what high heels could do for a woman was magic of an entirely different kind. She had a rather plain face, its only outstanding feature being the wonderful skin she had been blessed with and that had never given her a hard time in her teens or any time afterwards for that matter.

"Ms…" the wizard began and she hurried to state her last name.

"Bontemps."

"Ms Bontemps… you may pass," he said and snapped her passport shut, handing it over to her, smiling. She felt a relieved smile crawl over her face and accepted her papers back with a soft thank you.

Once she was past the terminal, she looked around questioningly. Where to go now that she was finally back in Britain and had a few hours to kill before catching the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade?

"Excuse me, miss. Are you Vivi Bontemps, by any chance?"

ooo

July 31st had Draco Malfoy sitting in the parlour of Malfoy Manor together with a pretty young witch named Ann Christie, a journalist for_ Teen Magic_, giving his very first interview ever and enjoying every moment of it. It had Narcissa Malfoy standing nearby, marvelling at her son's maturity. It had Messrs Petersen, Bowent and Johnson standing behind their young client like a wall of juristic knowledge and cunning, every now and then nodding or shaking their heads when Draco's eyes searchingly met theirs.

It also had Harry Potter shrieking with joy over the best birthday present ever – the return of his friend, Hermione Granger – and Ronald Weasley jumping around them excitedly, looking very much like a squirrel high on caffeine. It had Ginevra Weasley playing pranks on her older twin brothers, Fred and George, in honour of Hermione's return; with Remus Lupin torn between sadness and happiness as he watched the youngest members of the Order of the Phoenix squealing, yelling and laughing their relief out, knotted together in a tight group hug. It had Alastor Moody looking almost wistfully as the anger and grief slipped off Harry Potter's face while Albus Dumbledore sighed contently at the sight of the hugging children. It had Molly Weasley trying hard to suppress her sobs and fighting her tears as she clung to her husband's arm, who was patting her hand gently. It had Nymphadora Tonks burning with jealousy and Minerva Mc Gonagall hoping for the best, clutching three envelopes with OWL results tightly.

July 31st had a rather moody Severus Snape, too, who was sitting in front of his fireplace, glaring at a piece of parchment that now held only one name and Lilaea, the enchanted portrait of a nymph, pouting at the Potions Master because he wouldn't let her take his mind off it. It had the poltergeist Peeves zooming through Hogwarts' corridors and aisles, yelling at Argus Filch to polish that armour or scrub this floor because the castle looked as if it had been inhabited by savages for the last 500 years and he wouldn't allow it to look like that because _she might arrive any moment_! It had most Hogwarts' ghosts startled and somewhat amused over the poltergeist's obvious agitation while Rubeus Hagrid was sitting in the Forbidden Forest – ignoring the centaurs' threats – in front of his half-brother, Grawp, reading bedtime stories to him.

It had Genevieve Bontemps sitting in _The Three Broomsticks_, nursing her first butterbeer in years and talking animatedly with Madame Rosmerta in one corner of the pub while Dr Fillibuster was arguing with the owners of_ Zonko's_ about their plan to replace his range of products with the new, highly popular _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes_. It had _Honeydukes_ totally empty and its owners enjoying a picnic up at the _Shriecking Shack_.

It also had Andrew and Elisabeth Granger worried out of their mind about their only daughter's safety and Victor Krum writing a long letter to that very girl.

It had Tom Marvolo Riddle wake up from an afternoon nap and feel ecstatic for a reason he couldn't exactly pinpoint. It had Bellatrix Lestrange seducing her husband to join her in a bath and Peter Pettigrew examining his silver hand once again. It had Lucius Malfoy staring blankly at the horizon as if expecting an army or Aurors to appear there any moment now.

And it had Sirius Black, sitting on a cloud to the left of his long-dead friends, James and Lily Potter, desperately wishing that things could have been different.

**A/N 2:** Where did we leave off? Right, **Silver Eyes Bright** and **darklighttogether** kindly pointed out that I didn't make enough paragraphs in my dialogues, which ended up making them confusing. I'd like to thank you for that because to be honest I didn't recall that rule at all, but that's because I always sucked at grammar – whatever I say/write in English is always the infamous 'gut feeling' which is a good thing when translating but can make for some embarrassing situations during conversation or writing, hehe. I have paid attention to the paragraphs in this chapter and have corrected the mistake in the earlier chapters as well (good thing were only in the beginning so far).

Also, **duj** provided me with some nice background info in her review and pointed out another mistake of mine – when I had Snape ask Lilaea who Susan Bones was, my main criteria was finding a character from Hufflepuff, not bothering (I'm honest, I really DIDN'T bother) that Snape's main criteria was her being muggleborn and Susan only fit the first requirement. Since it's really a stupid mistake to make on my part, I've corrected this mistake as well and as long as Sally-Anne Perks doesn't suddenly turn out to be a pure-blooded witch in Slytherin (which, knowing my luck, she probably will) all's well.

7


	5. Back to school

**A/N: **A new chapter, one that I am quite happy with, too. I must apologize for the long wait, however. I had fully planned to present you with the interview hinted at in prior chapters but found it quite challenging. Up to a certain point I liked it very much but from then on it got only worse. So after spending some time trying to work with that very uncooperative interview I focused on writing this chapter instead, which isn't as long as I would have liked it to be but that's only because I decided to leave out more 'pointless ramblings'.

Now read and enjoy and if you have any constructive criticism, please do share.

Insanely yours,

Pace

Publishing Date: May 5th, 2005

Chapter revised: 2005-12-01

Inspiration: 'Back to school' from Grease 2 OST

**Matchmaker**

_Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match.  
Find me a find; Catch me a catch.   
Matchmaker, matchmaker, look through your book  
and make me the perfect match._

- From "Fiddler on the Roof" (musical)

**Chapter 4 – Back to school**

The slate coloured eyes of Draco Malfoy never left the parchment in his hands as the compartment door slid open; neither did he acknowledge in any way the soft greeting of Pansy Parkinson as she settled into a seat across from him, her hands folded neatly in her lap. They sat in comfortable silence until a lurch and a long-drawn, hissing groan went through the train, letting the passengers know that the Hogwarts Express was now moving and on its way to its destination: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Draco carefully folded his parchment and pocketed it, then finally lifted his head to acknowledge his fellow prefect.

"Hello Pansy," he said quietly. "How was your summer?"

"The same as always; mother dragged me from one soirée to another while father was making sure I didn't get too friendly with any young wizards below his social aims. Spent some quality time with my fiancé and got to know my future in-laws," the black-haired girl replied. Pansy, he recalled, had been betrothed to an American wizard for several years now. He shot her a questioning look.

"They're tolerable," she stated. "He's tolerable, too. No Prince Charming but I'll live."

Draco nodded his head. It wasn't as if Pansy had any other choice at present, really.

"You'll grow on each other," he simply said and Pansy smiled weakly at him.

"And how was your summer? You never answered my letters," she said casually.

"I've been busy. Running the family takes up some time. Ministry kept us on our toes, too. I actually had to consult father's lawyers," he said, sounding annoyed. Pansy nodded her head; she was well aware of the fact that Draco Malfoy hated to admit he couldn't do something on his own, let alone ask someone (anyone, actually) for help.

"All in all I'm glad to be returning to Hogwarts, if you can believe that," he said with a smirk.

"Really? So… did you enjoy being in the spotlight," Pansy teased, holding up her issue of _Teen Magic_. Draco groaned. "I've read it. Cover to cover," she said with a slight smile.

"And?" her blond companion asked in a resigned tone of voice.

"And I think it was a brilliant move," she replied.

Draco was loath to admit it, but his friends' reactions to the interview had been worrying him to a certain degree. For some obscure reason he had hoped they wouldn't find out – although he was fully aware of the fact that this was just as likely as Potter handing him over his Firebolt with a velvet ribbon tied to the handle. Draco Malfoy giving an interview and saying the things he said, sounding tame and like a generally nice person? He'd be the laughing stock of Slytherin in no time!

He had a reputation, a certain image to maintain. No, he couldn't afford to lose face like that, but letting such a chance pass was equally impossible. Deciding not to dwell he changed the topic.

"Do you know who the new heads are?" he asked.

"The Ravenclaw Seeker actually made Head Girl – I really don't see how she made it. I don't recall her having been a prefect," Pansy said.

"No one would recall you being a prefect, either. You rarely show up at the meetings and you've patrolled only once and that was the day Dumbledore got sacked," Draco replied. Pansy smiled sweetly at him.

"Head Boy?" he added as an afterthought.

"You won't like that one. Will Spencer."

"The Hufflepuff?"

"Am afraid so," Pansy said.

"So not only has that old fool ruined our badges, he also has to appoint two absolutely unworthy midgets to fill the most important position a student can hold. And the ministry is counting on him to keep the Dark Lord at bay? That war's as good as over and won," Draco said, chuckling. The compartment fell into silence again as he reached over and took the magazine from Pansy to read his interview.

ooo

September 1st was like the soft, worn blanket a young Hermione had hidden under when thunderstorms had tormented her at nights (a habit that she still hadn't been able to let go off, much to her embarrassment – the blanket was tucked away at the bottom of her trunk, hidden from prying eyes) – it made her feel warm and completely safe. Even now, with the knowledge of a war approaching, sitting in a compartment of the Hogwarts Express while watching Harry and Ron play Exploding Snap, she felt safe and protected. A part of her marvelled at how safe she felt – the rest was very busy ignoring that part because it could mean to let go of her precious sense of safety to worry about all those things that might catch up on her too soon for her liking.

Safety, she recalled, had been one of the reasons her parents had been reluctant to let her go. If he could have, her father would have locked her up in the basement, as well, Hermione was positive of that. It had taken a lot of talking and arguing on Dumbledore's part to make her parents see that they could not keep her away from Hogwarts and the Magical Community so easily. On the subject of the order Hermione's father had been as understanding of her wishes as Filch was on the subject of dung bombs and portable swamps. She had reminded him that his own father had left his family to fight in World War II so his children could grow up in a better world (sans 'brown scum'), but Andrew Granger had countered that he wasn't his father and neither was she. In the end, she hadn't had many options left and so Hermione resorted to the one thing that would allow her to do what she believed was right: she lied.

She had never been much of a liar (her mother had always claimed that Hermione was as 'see-through as glass'), but given the right amount of pressure, Hermione would be even able to convince the Death Eaters that not the muggleborns were 'the enemy' but in fact the old pureblood families. She promised not to seek for trouble (she never had, she'd always been dragged along), she swore not to leave the school, not to get involved with the Order of the Phoenix, to stay away from anything and anyone connected to that war – with her fingers painfully crossed under the table, her heart thumping wildly in her chest so loud that she was sure they could hear it, shaking on the inside so much that her voice came out shaky and hoarse, feeling so dirty and bad that tears sprung to her eyes; tears of disgust that her parents mistook for anger.

And even after all of those oaths, promises and reassurances her parents hadn't wanted to let her go – as if they knew she was lying. They did let her go, but they made it clear that they didn't want to.

Dumbledore had escorted her to the new headquarters personally, an old Victorian mansion called 'The Cavendish Mansion' which, for some reason, made her think of candy, where she had met with the rest of the order. She had felt slightly queasy about it because she was breaking her word, intentionally even, but seeing Harry, Ron and Ginny again and how ecstatic they were when they greeted her, she managed to push those guilty feelings far, far away. Not to mention that she had her OWL results handed over to her by her Head of House in person – she hadn't dared to count exactly how many 'O's she had scored, and frankly, hadn't had a chance to because Harry and Ron had taken it on themselves to find a subject where she hadn't achieved a perfect mark, informing her after several hours that there simply was none.

Hermione's gaze drifted towards the window and the landscape speeding by in blurs of green. It was noon already but they wouldn't be arriving at Hogsmeade Main Station until the early evening. The food trolley had yet to come by their compartment and she started to feel slightly bored. She was about to pick up the first book she had ever read about the magical world (coincidentally also the book apparently no one else had ever bothered reading) when the compartment door slid open and Cho Chang stood in the doorway, her head girl badge catching the light quite nicely.

She didn't bother to greet anyone in the room and her voice was tense when she asked Hermione and Ron to patrol the train once from one end to another, starting in the back and then report to the head compartment. She added a sharp 'right now' when she caught the distasteful look Ginny gave her and slammed the door shut again, not waiting for an answer.

ooo

Patrolling the train turned out to be quite the task. They had been sitting in a compartment close to the back of the train, where it was relatively quiet (mostly because most of the compartments near by where empty) and so they hadn't bothered to check every compartment and instead started out towards the front immediately. On their way they broke up 3 food fights, a game of 'spin the vial' (obviously no bottle had been available), 2 ordinary fist fights - once the bully was a small, slender girl (a fifth year Slytherin that had to be related to Blaise Zabini if her looks were anything to go by) that looked like a china doll and seemed entirely too frail and delicate to have caused the black eye and broken nose that Morag MacDougal would be sporting for the remainder of the trip, despite of 13 witnesses giving testimony to just that – and a heated snogging session between a Hufflepuff and his Ravenclaw sweetheart (Ron advised them to try the empty compartments in the back of the train when Hermione wasn't paying attention).

Almost halfway through the train the food trolley passed them and Hermione had to literally drag Ron along, who stood rooted in place, looking at the bright candy wrappings with a look of (almost) heartbreaking longing.

"Food," the redhead moaned.

"Oh really, Ron! Waiting for the feast won't kill you!" Hermione said exasperatedly after telling him for the third time that he could buy something after they were done patrolling.

"How do you know? Maybe I'll drop dead this instance because you won't let me grab a cauldron cake and some liquorice wands. I'm starving! Please, Hermione, just a little snack," he pleaded, underlining his whining by dropping to his knees dramatically and reaching out to the slowly disappearing food trolley with one hand as if her were truly dying.

"Don't be silly. You can go up to 10 days and more without food and not starve. You've been without only for a couple of hours," the brunette answered. Then Ron gave her _that_ look and she rolled her eyes, muttering for him to get lost already and she'd be waiting here for his return and he'd better remember to get her a cauldron cake, too, or she'd make sure he'd regret it. A couple of younger students giggled as Ron, no longer struggling with the metaphorical last breath jumped to his feet and raced after the trolley, yelling "Oh, admirable, wonderful Food-Trolley lady! Wait up!"

"Well, look at that. Seems we're not the only one's who aren't in the Head Girl's good graces. Don't worry about having been assigned the tedious task of babysitting the rest of the train, Granger, you're in good company. Although I can't really say the same about myself," a familiar voice drawled from behind her. Hermione spun around, coming face to face with Draco Malfoy and two other Slytherin prefects. Fifth years, she supposed.

"Where are your precious friends, mudblood? Did they finally decide that you're too filthy to keep them company?" he asked in that all-too-casual sneer. Hermione grit her teeth.

"None of your business, Malfoy. I see you no longer baby-sit Crabbe and Goyle exclusively," she said, then eyed the other two Slytherins warily.

"I'd be careful if I were you, mudblood. There's no Potty here to protect you and no Weasel King, either." Draco said casually, his hand drifting slowly towards his wand.

"Are you threatening my friend?" someone asked in a dangerously low voice from behind the Slytherins. Hermione craned her neck and Draco turned his head ever so slightly. She could have sworn that for a moment, the blond Slytherin had looked both, disgusted and worried.

"Not at all, Jordan, just stating the obvious. The train ride's long and," he paused, smirking evilly, "Granger here might not be … ah… entirely safe out all alone. A lot can happen to a girl if she's not careful, if you know what I mean. Dangerous times and all."

"Why thank you for your concern, Malfoy, I wasn't aware you cared," Hermione spat.

"I don't," Draco replied coldly. He shot his fellow Slytherins a look. "Come on, we've got work to do. Mudblood. Jordan," he said, nodding to each of them and then continued down the train. Hermione had the horrible feeling that he wasn't talking about patrol duties.

Lee Jordan frowned. "As much as I hate to admit it, he's right, though. You're not supposed to patrol on your own, though. Where's your partner, Hermione?" he asked.

"Went to catch up with the food trolley to get us a snack," she replied dutifully. "You know Ron." Lee smirked and pushed a few dreadlocks out of his face.

"Want to join us while you wait for him?" he asked, gesturing at the compartment. "We've got pumpkin pasties."

ooo

The train pulled into Hogsmeade Main Station several hours after sunset. The early night sky – usually displaying a glorious red-golden-orange colour scheme at this time of year and day - had turned pitch black. Dark clouds were rolling towards Hogwarts, swallowing the twinkling stars and pale moonlight fighting its way through the last remaining rays of sunlight - there would be a thunderstorm tonight. Hermione wondered briefly whether it was still safe for the first years to approach the castle over the lake, as was customary, but her musings were cut short as she ran straight into the back of Neville Longbottom.

"Ouch... Neville, don't just stand rooted in place. You're keeping up the traffic you know," she muttered slightly irritated, but Neville didn't seem to hear her. In fact, it seemed as if he didn't even notice her presence. His eyes were opened wide and his jaw was hanging slack in shock. Under different circumstances, his expression might have been considered somewhat comical.

Realization dawned on Hermione as she noticed Harry stalking towards them stiffly, passing a carriage. Of course. _Thestrals_. Neville had seen Sirius Black die, too.

"Neville," she said more softly, tugging on the boy's sleeve, but Neville wouldn't budge. Harry came to a halt next to them.

"They're hideous, aren't they?" he asked Neville in as casual a tone as he could muster. Neville made a choking sound.

"I know; I'd rather not be able to see them, either. I think the only one who remotely enjoys seeing them is Luna, but she's had plenty of time getting used to them. She's been able to see them since her first year," Harry added. No response from Neville. Hermione watched both boys carefully, too anxious and worried to just turn away, although something in Neville's eyes seemed to beg her to do so.

"Ron's saving us a carriage. Wanna ride with us?" the boy who lived finally asked. Neville's shaking faded into slight tremors and Harry took that as a yes. "Well come on then," he said and grabbed Neville's wrist to drag him off. "You coming, 'Mione?"

ooo

"**S**o how do you know her?" Lilaea asked casually as Severus Snape dressed for the welcoming feast. It was approximately the 10th time that she had asked him that very same question in the hopes of catching him unaware enough to actually receive an answer. However, just as the previous 9 times, the nymph's effort wasn't crowned by success this time, either.

Severus knew of Lilaea's notorious curiosity, of course. It was, after all, in her very nature, as she had pointed out on several occasions (never mind that curiosity killed the cat, what it did to the nymph was even worse). Years of a spy had left their mark on him, however, who had never been a very communicative person to begin with. Therefore, Lilaea's questions didn't meet deaf, but definitely tight-lipped ears.

Of course, had the nymph really wanted to find out more about Professor Bontemps, she very well could have: there were other means at her disposal that would help her obtain the desired information. All she had to do was ask one of the many portraits or tapestries lining the walls of Hogwarts and do a little spying. Such measures, however, were below the nymph (sometimes Severus wished the same would apply to the headmaster) and she had made it clear at one point that she preferred to receive such information from him.

Severus, on the other hand, had no plans of ever discussing Genevieve Bontemps with anyone, least of all a portrait Albus Dumbledore had assigned him. If he did, he would have to confess that besides having been taken with surprise the day Vivi (he wasn't sure whether he was still allowed to call her that) had joined the staff for dinner the first time, he would also have to admit that he was quite happy with her taking over the position he had always wanted for himself. It was a bittersweet, pleasantly unpleasant surprise, something he didn't want to have to explain to anyone but himself.

Bittersweet, because he hadn't seen Genevieve Bontemps ever since matriculating from Snowdon Elite Academy of Magic and Sorcery (a welsh university carved directly into the mountain that also lent it its name, often abbreviated SEAMS) and gaining his title as Potions Master under the tutelage of Professor Magnus Skewered, who was her uncle and godfather. Although Snape hadn't been exactly happy during that time he still held many fond memories of evenings spent scrubbing cauldrons and discussing Theory of Dark Magic with her under her uncle's close watch.

A pleasant surprise because the brunette, who had been his minor by 2 years when still attending Hogwarts, was a Slytherin like himself and it was about time that some more 'green' was added to the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff dominated staff. Pleasant also because Vivi was actually quite competent in her chosen field of expertise and could hold decent conversation for hours to no end without using the same argument twice or having to resort to off-topic means (such as shameless display of her female charms as seen on the one or other female student trying to worm their way out of detention) to get her point across.

And unpleasant because she happened to know him as the eager, studious Potions apprentice, nicknamed 'Snap' by aforementioned Potions Master and uncle, who had been best friends with his cauldrons and books in the first place and only in the second place with a few chosen students of SEAMS.

Unpleasant, too, because then he would have to convey his suspicions regarding a certain book and its main character as well.

No, Severus Snape definitely wasn't ready to discuss one Vivi Bontemps with anyone but the tiny voice in his head. His gaze met the clock, one hand pointing at '1 hour left until beginning of feast', while the other clearly stated 'avoids talking about uncomfortable topic', much to his dismay.

ooo

Draco had watched Neville Longbottom's peculiar behavior with interest. He was well aware that Neville had been one of those fighting against his father and the Dark Lord at the Department of Mysteries shortly before the last term ended, but he didn't know what events exactly had taken place there. No one, neither his father nor Snape, had told him the whole story (although they most certainly knew) and the snippets of information the _Daily Prophet_ had published were petty at best. He knew for sure, that his mother's cousin, Sirius Black, was dead and that his aunt, Bellatrix, was the one that received both, praise from the Dark Lord and blame from Potter, for this, but that was the only thing he was certain of.

And that although Draco hungered for details, for more information, like a man short of starving! It was unfair, at the very least, and decidedly frustrating. Here he was, in a position not only to gather information but to also apply some to a good cause (tormenting his favourite Gryffindors and putting Potter's petty army in their place did qualify as a good cause, didn't it?), willing, eager and able to do all that stood in his powers to do and he did - nothing; held back by his father's parting words and his mother initial warning to behave himself and to make sure not to get on the bad side of any of his teacher or the headmaster he did absolutely nothing. It was just as frustrating as the fact that the accursed ministry wouldn't back off.

It appeared that a few months ago, when Draco had been a member of the Inquisitional Squad supporting the Hogwarts High Inquisitor he had been good enough for the Minister to praise him to his father's face (he still wasn't sure what exactly Granger had done to Umbridge but fact was that she was currently in no state of mind that would permit her to stay anywhere else but the closed ward of St. Mungo's), but as of lately, Draco was treated as if he were a petty criminal. Granted, Draco hadn't sided with Umbridge for any misguided altruistic reasons on his part or for honest support of the ministry - the lure of power and the chance to watch that woman get rid of his least favourite teachers had been by far more persuasive reasons - but he sincerely doubted that Cornelius Fudge was aware of that. In fact, he doubted that the minister had the mental capacities to even contemplate the possibility (his mother had been as good as a squib, that said it all).

For a fleeting moment Draco regretted that the Dark Lord had chosen to appear at the Department of Mysteries; after parting ways with Dumbledore Fudge had been more than open to most of Lucius' suggestions and often he had owled Lucius for advice on important decisions just as he had done before with Dumbledore. They might have just as well declared Lucius Malfoy the new Minister of Magic.

Still it was a mind-boggling concept that Fudge should have somehow gained the ability to be wary of a 16, almost 17, years old boy who still attended school and who had a charming smile such as Draco. He knew for a fact that the ministry didn't keep such close taps on other Death Eater families - families like the Goyles or the Crabbes, who had 6, that is 9 sons each that could (and for a fact had) decide(d) to join the Dark Lord.

The Flint family consisted of 15 Death Eaters (not including Marcus, who was still stuck in 7th year) and after they had pledged their 'allegiance' to 'the right and honorable cause of defending our most valuable' (Draco found it quite amusing how the ministry played into their hands like that), they hadn't been bothered again.

He, on the other hand, had to allow the ministry to go over their accounts and answer questions about supposedly 'suspicious money transfers' about which he knew just as much as the Ministry official who had 'discovered' them. He was forced to stand back and watch the Aurors as they literally tore Malfoy Manor apart in search of illegal artefacts, dangerous potions and traces of Dark Magic. They questioned and insulted him, threatening him with a cell in Azkaban if he didn't pledge allegiance with the Ministry on behalf of his family _right now_.

Perhaps the ministry believed that putting enough pressure on the Malfoys would ensure that other Death Eaters wouldn't attempt to join with the Dark Lord, but that assumption was false. The pure-blooded families had nothing to lose and everything to gain, after all.

ooo

As usual Severus Snape found his attention wavering from the Sorting Ceremony. However, instead of mentally cursing about a new generation of little monsters, that would undoubtedly attempt to drive him insane sooner rather than later, he found his mind drifting off to the task at hand. Sitting tall and proud under Slytherin's green and silver banner, Draco seemed every inch of Slytherin royalty some people made him out to be. His face was calm and fairly neutral. But Severus, who knew the Malfoys like no other, could tell that Draco was tense and boiling with rage just under the surface. He made a mental note to keep him behind after next potions class to see what was wrong. He couldn't have outside forces interfering with what he was about to unleash onto the boy.

Alex Zabini caught Snape's eye just as he was about to examine the Gryffindor table. They said that children should be seen and not heard, but whoever 'they' were, 'they' surely didn't know little Miss Zabini or else they would agree that the girl's every movement should be accompanied by some sort of warning sound (such as the howl of a siren) as to alert her possible victims. He had received word that she handled a 6th year quite rough on the train and he really wasn't looking forward to meeting with the boy's Head of House to discuss punishment. He gave the girl the tiniest of nods then turned his gaze towards the Gryffindor table, decorated in scarlet and gold.

In the sea of pointed black hats he only barely found Hermione Granger's face, turned attentively towards the front to watch the sorting. He leaned a little closer – it was much harder to read her expressive face in the dim light of the Great Hall, especially at this distance. Severus wished, not for the first time, for a better lighting of the student's tables. He tried to read her stance but a sudden yap into his side forced his attention onto the woman sitting next to him.

"I said, do you even plan on somehow acknowledging the students sorted into your house," Vivi Bontemps hissed into his ear and Severus offered her a glare in return.

ooo

**A/N 2**: There really isn't much more to say about this chapter with the exception that I didn't jump right into the new term as I had originally intended to. The reason for that is simple: I got bitten by the muse. Baaad bites, really. I found myself forced to scribble all the stuff down that came into my head before I forgot it again. The result should be somewhat entertaining (I think it's bloody hilarious but that might be because I'm weird anyways).

I've heard through the grapevine that authors are not supposed to interact with their readers through Author Notes, so I won't be commenting on your individual reviews until I find out whether this is true (hope not) or not (hope hope hope).

In general, though, I can say that most of you were right with the separator thingy. Yes, I admit my scene jumps are more than just a little confusing, but I did try to build in separators. The original document I uploaded even has them in place (I used + five times) but for some reason they didn't show. I've tried a new variation this time and if those don't show, either, I will have to come up with something else.

I was very happy about all of your reviews and I literally itch to respond to them. All in all I can only say that your criticism and praise had me working on this chapter really hard to make it worth your effort of sharing your opinion again. I hope I did succeed somewhat.

So thank you **Sunny June 46** (an incredibly talented author who gave us 'The Masquerade' and if you haven't read it yet you'd better go and do it now before the authorities decide to tear it down, i. e. delete it), **xOxO** (no thanks I don't kiss there), **Anwen**, **DracoDraconis**, **Crayola**, **solfire**, **FarDeep**, **Vor Tirla Laime**, **future** **movie** **maker**, **Tree of Life**, **Bethany** and **Silver Eyes Bright** for your wonderful reviews and also thank you to my 23 Author-Alert-Angels **jessebell**, **Lady Moofin**, **FlairVerona**, **Rose Mitzkah**, **Crayola**, **Mersang**, **sad-soulz**, **alia-harkonnen**, **foxeran**, **dimondcrystal124**, **BrennaM**, **aicila**, **darklighttogether**, **Beatlesluver91** (love the Fab Four, my current fav is 'Lovely Rita' – thought of making a songfic of it but the only Rita I can come up with is Rita Skeeter and I refuse to have someone serenade to her lol), **NicoleFelton**, **sharp hint of new tears**, **Vor Tirla Laime**, **flamephoenix**, **DracoDraconis**, **Slyswn**, **solfire**, **future movie maker** and **CareBearErin**!

Note: the following chapter is just a little treat…


	6. Interlude

**A/N: **I figured you might like to read what kept me busy the past weeks so I decided to upload the interview as well. At first it was ONLY the interview but I figured it would be better to tie it into the story somehow, that's why I had Snape find it.

As always, I am looking forward to your constructive criticism (and don't worry, Silver Eyes Bright, I wasn't offended by your comment – it actually made me laugh. I hope my response didn't offend you in turn, though)!

Insanely yours,

Pace

Chapter revised: 2005-12-01

Inspiration: Came to me while cleaning the bathroom

**Interlude – Teen Magic Special Issue No. 4**

It was well past midnight when Severus Snape made his way back down to his chambers in the dungeons of Hogwarts, well-sated from the welcoming feast. A warm sleepiness had settled into his limbs an hour ago, a sleepiness he had been fighting for as long as possible. But the nearer he drew to his chambers and his bed (which presently seemed to be the most inviting place in the world), the weaker his resistance grew. The corridor was empty and dark, lit only by the magical light of his wand, as Snape yawned a jaw-breaking yawn, ignoring every rule of etiquette his mother had ever taught him by keeping his hands heavy at his sides.

Out of habit, his eyes scanned the walls and the floor briefly (he had fallen victim to tripping pranks too often in his childhood to be able to carelessly walk down a corridor like other people did) when he caught sight of what seemed to be some high-gloss paper. Carefully, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands. A picture of Draco Malfoy, who was sitting to a witch with a quick-quote quill dancing on the parchment before her, smiled up at him.

With a curious quirk of his eyebrow, Severus Snape leaned against a wall and began reading.

_**That thin line – an interview with Draco Malfoy**_

_By Ann Christie, Photos by Alan Rotterdam_

_When I was first presented with the task of interviewing Draco Malfoy I must admit I had very mixed feelings about it. On the one hand Mr. Malfoy just so happens to be the only son of one of the oldest and richest British pure-blooded wizarding families, which should be interesting enough, but on the other hand his family happens to have a reputation for being not only very exclusive in their choice of associates but also for being into the Dark Arts way past their ears. So when I wrote that request I fully expected a negative reply – which I never received or else you wouldn't be reading this – and most definitely not an invitation to Malfoy Manor._

_Please take a moment to imagine lil' ole me toddling along a worn path up to the manor's gates, white as a sheet and shaking so much that I must have made Jemma Jollie's Jiggly Jelly look very stable in comparison. (Please also note that Alan Rotterdam wasn't off any better – so much for the supposedly 'most dare devilish wiz since Gilderoy Lockhart'!) _

_Yes, I was ready to face my creator. I knew this interview would force me to commute between Hell and Malfoy Manor for the next hours and I really wasn't sure which of these two places I was going to prefer but I was fully prepared for it. I mentally steeled myself for the most painful experience available right next to tooth ache. Yes, I was ready; I was prepared; nothing would throw me off track!_

_Well, except that wonderful lunch in Mrs. Malfoy's rose gardens in the company of the most pleasant young man – that did throw me off track quite effectively, for I really wasn't prepared to be enjoying myself so much._

**Ann Christie: First of all, thank you very much for agreeing to this interview, Mr. Malfoy. I must confess I was quite surprised when I got your letter.**

_Draco Malfoy: (laughs softly) So was I when I received yours. I guess we're square then, huh?_

**A. Christie: (laughs) I guess we are. Let's jump right in then, shall we? How does it feel to have become the head of one of the most prominent pure-blooded wizarding families in Britain over night?**

_D. Malfoy: To be quite honest with you it doesn't feel nearly as good as people believe it to be. If I were anyone lesser I might say that it is a burden, but that isn't so. It's more something along the lines of very hard work._

**A. Christie: Too hard for someone your age?**

_D. Malfoy: I do not shy from work, Miss Christie; no Malfoy does. We haven't been raised to._

**A. Christie: So then what have you been raised to do? What is it like to be raised as a Malfoy?**

_D. Malfoy: (laughs) Personally I think it's quite enjoyable. (Pauses to calm down) I can't really explain what it is like to be raised as a Malfoy since I have nothing to compare it with. You're raised only once after all. However, I have been raised to walk with my shoulders pulled back and my head held up. I have been taught to dance, to hold polite conversation while speaking in a clear and calm voice, when to use which fork during a banquet and how to correctly stir my tea in public and in private._

**A. Christie: (bursts out laughing) You have been taught how to stir your tea?**

_D. Malfoy: I understand that you find this amusing but it is in fact not a laughing matter. There are social circles in which your… position may actually depend on whether you stir your tea clockwise or counter clockwise. _

**A. Christie: Now you're kidding me…**

_D. Malfoy: I assure you I am not. Dragging your spoon along the china is also considered improper. Stirring your tea should not create a sound similar to dragging a fork over a plate… which you should avoid doing at all cost, too, by the way. (Winks playfully)_

**A. Christie: All in all you've been taught the finer aspects of life then?**

_D. Malfoy: Among other things, yes. Of course I am also tutored in other skills, such as Arithmancy, Accounting and basically everything I need to know to be capable of running the family. You could say I was taught the 'proper way' to life as a Malfoy. Still am as a matter of fact._

**A. Christie: And what would be the 'proper way' to have fun for a Malfoy?**

_D. Malfoy: Are we speaking of Malfoy's in general or a particular one?_

**A. Christie: I guess we are speaking of you in particular.**

_D. Malfoy: What do I do for fun… there's only one thing: flying._

**A. Christie: You're a Quidditch player?**

_D. Malfoy: That, too. I play Seeker in my house team, but to be honest Quidditch can't exactly compare to flying - at least not in my book._

**A. Christie: You make it sound like there's a huge difference between the two.**

_D. Malfoy: Oh but there is. You see when you play Quidditch you can move only within a designated area – the pitch – and you are bound to adhere to certain rules. When I fly, especially here, at the coast, there are no rules, no limitations. There are no balls to chase for scores; in fact there are no scores. It's only about skill. It's just the wind, the broom and me. And one day maybe it'll be _only_ the wind and me._

**A. Christie: Is that even possible?**

_D. Malfoy: Well currently it isn't. I do have high hopes for the future, however. After all, a few centuries ago the preferred mode de transport was riding a Hippogriff and witches and wizards throughout Europe were convinced that there simply was no inconspicuous way for our kind to travel. And where are we now, approximately 10 broom pioneers later? We have brooms for almost every demand possible: brooms for long-distance flights, high-spell racing brooms, brooms for flight-beginners and children, safety brooms… So why shouldn't we be able to eventually create a charm that'll allow us to fly without any having to rely on additional aids?_

**A. Christie: You've got a point there.**

_D. Malfoy: (smirks) A pretty good one? _

**A. Christie: I'd say 'a damn good one', but my editor told me to watch my language so I'm afraid pretty good will have to do.**

_D. Malfoy: Funny… and here I was hoping that you'd be watching me instead._

**A. Christie: Oh I am keeping an eye on you, don't you worry.**

_D. Malfoy: I don't._

**A. Christie: There's one thing I always wondered about…**

_D. Malfoy: Don't hesitate, Miss Christie. Ask away._

**A. Christie: Did you ever feel that all those traditions and stuff you had to learn as a child somehow restricted or limited your personal development? I imagine it must be terrible to be told not to do this or that at every turn.**

_D. Malfoy: (laughs) No, I don't think so. It is my way of living – I've never known anything else. Actually I've never even questioned those rules and traditions until I hit puberty._

**A. Christie: What did you question?**

_D. Malfoy: Oh the usual. 'Why do I have to attend boring dinner parties?' 'Why do I have to be the one leading so-and-so to the dance floor?' and of course 'I sure hope you didn't arrange a marriage for me when I hit 20 because I've got other plans…'_

**A. Christie: Arrange a marriage?**

_D. Malfoy: It's not an entirely uncommon practice among pure-blooded families, although it has been scorned by the majority of the Wizarding Community for a couple of decades now._

**A. Christie: I have to admit the thought of someone other than me picking the man I'll be spending the rest of my life with is quite… disturbing. I couldn't live with a man I don't love.**

_D. Malfoy: Who said that there can't be any love in an arranged marriage? I do believe that one can 'learn' to love someone else; that people grow attached to each other if they spend enough time together. Perhaps they start out as friends and then end up as lovers. It's not entirely impossible._

**A. Christie: Still you object to someone arranging your own marriage.**

_D. Malfoy: I never said that. I said 'I sure hope you didn't arrange a marriage for me when I hit 20'. I'm not entirely against the thought of my parents picking my future wife, although they won't. My father was the one that ended the tradition of pre-arranged marriages in the Malfoy family; by accident rather than by intend._

**A. Christie: How so?**

_D. Malfoy: If I remember correctly he was betrothed to a Russian witch he never even knew off until their introduction on his 20th birthday. By that time he was already in love with my mother and so opposed the betrothal. When my grandfather refused to give my parents his blessings, they eloped. _

**A. Christie: (gasps) Lucius Malfoy? Eloped? Oh my… Rita Skeeter would die to get her hands on this story. Do tell me more!**

_D. Malfoy: There isn't much more to tell, really. My grandfather reluctantly accepted my mother into the family and the Russian witch married someone else. Sometime later I was born and grandfather no longer had a reason to complain. End of story._

**A. Christie: (dreamily) That's the stuff romance novels are made off…**

_D. Malfoy: No need telling me that. I hope for something similar but decidedly less corny to happen to me._

**A. Christie: Does that mean you're already working on finding a bride?**

_D. Malfoy: No, I'm working on finding a suitable bride._

**A. Christie: Even at such an early age?**

_D. Malfoy: Especially at such an early age. What better time is there to explore the world and your own personality other than your teens?_

**A. Christie: True. What would you expect of her then - other than the obvious? **

_D. Malfoy: (smirks) What, pray tell, would the obvious be?_

**A. Christie: Well, someone who comes from a pure-blooded family, such as yourself; someone who's already familiar with your world, who 'knows the ropes' so to say.**

_D. Malfoy: I admit I don't see myself ever marrying a woman that doesn't heir from a pureblooded family. But there's no need for her to origin in the same social circles as I do. Etiquette and decorum are things that, to a certain degree, can be learned. Of course I do expect a minimum of those skills but as long as she's got a sensible head on her shoulders and we agree on certain things her social background isn't that relevant._

**A. Christie: How would you go about courting such a woman?**

_D. Malfoy: The only way there actually is. I'd ask permission from her father to court her and then make her see the charming and irresistible persona I am underneath the irresistible and charming persona you're talking to right now._

**A. Christie: (smiles) And then you'd marry her?**

_D. Malfoy: If she agrees and if her parents agree and if my parents agree _and_ if I feel like it, then yes._

**A. Christie: What about love?**

_D. Malfoy: Without a certain degree of sympathy as basis to my courting the whole thing wouldn't make any sense, would it?_

**A. Christie: Right you are.**

_D. Malfoy: And love, as I already said, can develop through time._

**A. Christie: So no love on first sight for you?**

_D. Malfoy: Should I ever experience that particular phenomenon I shall be inclined to redeem my point of view but until then my answer will remain: Merlin, no!_

**A. Christie: What would you do if it would happen? If you fell head over heels, so to say, for a - yes, why not - what would you do if you fell head over heels for a muggleborn witch?**

_D. Malfoy: Now you're the one kidding me! Is that a serious question?_

**A. Christie: Of course it is, although I don't expect you to answer this one.**

What Draco did answer Snape didn't find out because that part of the page had been torn off. Tapping a long, bony finger against his lips the Potions Master contemplated the article for a while before pocketing it and resuming his way to the dungeons. Sleep first. Plot later.

4


	7. The Miracle

**A/N:** To quote solfire: Hi, I'm back! Did you miss me? (By the way yes, solfire, I did miss you.)

I believe this chapter is appropriately named because me putting it online before Christmas (or the announced date of January) is – in short – a miracle. I was very lucky to eventually have my pc fixed and returned to me (and it only cost me roughly 200 Euros, yay!) so quickly. I mean it only took them 3 months. Mind the sarcasm.

So here we are with a new chapter and I think you will like it. Personally, I am happy with how this one turned out with the exception of a few minor scenes/lines (but if I tinkered around with that until I think its perfect I'd never get to upload anything so I'm willing to let these 'problems' slide).

You will notice (if you have this story or me on any of your alert lists) that there are several alert mails in your inbox. That is because I exchanged the old chapters with revised ones. The contents didn't change (with the exception of a few lines here and there that irked me because they interrupted the flow of the story), but I fixed the separators in the other chapters as well so if you ever feel you want to go back and read the story from the start you won't have to deal with my (more than) confusing jumps in scenery.

The attentive reader will also note that the rating for this story has been increased from T to M for language. This is a precautionary measure on my part since I can never tell where minor language ends and strong language begins. There will most likely be more language but also some innuendo in this story as well as some implied sexual actions. I am not sure whether this warrants the higher rating (in my opinion an average Britney Spears song or Shakira video implies more than what I have planned for this story) but I firmly believe that its better to be safe than sorry.

That's all I wanted to say so you may now proceed to read the story and (perhaps) leave some constructive criticism behind for me to cherish.

Insanely yours,

Pace

PS – Authors can now respond to their signed reviewers directly! Yay! As for my unsigned reviewers, you will find my responses on my profile page until I can think of a better solution.

Chapter published: 2005-12-04

Inspiration: '_The Miracle'_ by Queen

This chapter was beta-read by _Vor Tirla Laime_. Thank you so much for your help.

**Matchmaker**

_Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match.  
Find me a find; Catch me a catch.   
Matchmaker, matchmaker, look through your book  
and make me the perfect match._

- From "Fiddler on the Roof" (musical)

**Chapter 5 – The Miracle**

The first week back at Hogwarts was pure intellectual bliss, at least for Hermione Granger, who had missed school probably even more than Harry had while he had been staying with his relatives. Walking down to the Great Hall for breakfast, making her way to the cold and damp dungeons to be sneered at by Professor Snape, even hitting her pinkie toe against the sturdy four-poster she slept in was wonderful. Hermione found that after this summer, she appreciated Hogwarts so much more; not that she hadn't appreciated it properly before, but it was just as her grandparents always said: absence indeed made the heart grow fonder and you really don't know what you've got until it's (almost) gone.

Only very few things penetrated Hermione's educational-induced haze of happiness, like sugar quills and vivid discussions of Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons and their new instructor, Professor Bontemps. Defence lessons this year were quite different from those of the year prior simply for the fact that they had been asked questions and were expected to answer them. Even Ron agreed that this was an improvement, although he still wouldn't participate as actively as Hermione would like him to.

"Well I don't know about you but I really enjoyed this lesson," Hermione said, turning to Harry and Ron as they walked down the Defence-corridor after another lesson on repelling Dementors.

"I could be wrong but I think she's already said that today for … 3 or 4 times?" Ron pondered aloud.

"Well let's see… she said it right after Charms and when she got back from Ancient Runes, too," Harry said, ticking the subjects off.

"Not to forget Transfiguration," Ron said.

"And Herbology," Harry added.

"And… ugh… Double Potions," both boys said disgustedly.

"Potions was yesterday, though," Hermione replied bemusedly.

"So? You still claimed it was an enjoyable lesson."

"But it was!"

"I don't know which Double Potions lesson with Slytherin you attended, Hermione, but the one Ron and I went to was quite horrible actually. I don't recall Snape having ever been so particularly nasty so early into the term that he actually send someone out; he's threatened us with it often enough, but he's never actually thrown anyone out before, no matter how much he hated us." Harry said thoughtfully.

"You're not disappointed that it wasn't you who got kicked out, are you?" Hermione asked somewhat incredulous, to which Harry and Ron only responded with wry grins.

They separated at the portrait of the witch Lorelei, who gave Harry and Ron a radiant smile but tutted at Hermione's hair, the boys heading towards the Gryffindor Tower on their own for some studying during their free period (one of the 'perks' of having dropped Divination was the increase of study time) while Hermione made her way to Advanced Arithmancy. Halfway there, she met Mandy Brocklehurst, who was one of the remaining Arithmancy students, and they discussed their expectations for the new term when Kate Moon walked by.

"Moon's getting bolder and bolder each year," Mandy remarked distastefully, her eyes following the red-haired witch.

The girl in question was turning quite some heads while she walked away; over the years Kate had grown from an unimpressive chubby girl into a voluptuous, slightly more impressive young woman. It was the transformation of the ugly duckling all over, only that at the end this duckling didn't turn into a beautiful swan but rather an appealing duck (and there's absolutely nothing wrong with being a duck as opposed to a swan, let me tell you that). Kate's hair was neither the lush, vibrant red that Ginny Weasley had been favoured with, nor was it like the shiny golden-blonde curls of Sally-Ann Perkins, but rather a shabby shade of copper and brass. Her eyes were a rather uninspiring dull shade of blue and her face was – to put it nicely – quite plain. However, Kate had been blessed with long, shapely legs, an almost perfect hour-glass figure and an absolutely flawless peach-coloured skin for which Eloise Midgen would have killed in her fourth year.

Hermione turned her head slightly to watch the red-haired girl walk away. Ever since Kate had hit puberty she had toyed with her appearance, trying to use her "assets" to her advantage. With every year that passed her blouses would become a little tighter and her skirts a little shorter; not tight or short enough to be violating the school's dress code, but still noticeably different. Every boy would fantasize about Kate Moon and her uniform at one point or another and although Hermione found it admirably how Kate managed to accomplish her goals she heavily resented the girl's methods. She made a face at the boys in the hallway, who were leering quite openly at Kate.

Draco Malfoy found this shameless display of male appreciation equally nauseating. Unlike some people he had enough decorum to fully appreciate the beauty of Kate Moon's body without staring at her as if he were a starving man and she a free meal. Still the quick, hidden glances he shot the girl were of a high entertainment factor, for which he was grateful. His eyes trailed the length of Kate's legs and Draco found himself wondering whether there was perhaps a chance to spend some quality time with those legs and the body attached to them.

He found this concept highly demanding as well as highly distracting. The lesson started without Draco noticing. When Professor Vector opened the classroom, Draco trotted behind Blaise Zabini and slipped into a seat in the back of the room, eyes still trained on Kate Moon, who sat down a few rows away. He missed the introduction of the new apprentice (Aurora McCarthy, an American witch) as he pulled out his parchment and abacus, mentally running through his repertoire of compliments and pick-up lines while Professor Vector welcomed the class and began her lecture about the Ziffer paradox.

Had Draco been with at least half of his mind on the lesson (and not on the few things still covered by the school uniform of a certain Hufflepuff witch) he would have never ended up in front of the class looking like a fool. But as it were, he failed to do so and the whole class was able to bear witness to it.

It was common knowledge that Professor Vector firmly believed that the key to successful studying was in fact success: if students worked out themselves how to solve a problem they were less likely to forget it; as opposed to simply learning by heart what she told them. Therefore daydreaming in Emma Vector's class was an incredibly dangerous thing to do. It wasn't that the witch recognized daydreaming as such very often – most of the time she confused it with a look of puzzlement – but the result, whether she recognized it or not, was always the same.

The class quieted in apprehension when Professor Vector began to compose a problem on the black board; quick glances were shot through the room in search of the unlucky victim – who would be called to the board by the Arithmancy professor to solve the problem? Who had forgotten the most crucial rule of survival in Arithmancy (never show your mind is wandering unless you want the professor to 'help' you) this time?

"The Ziffer paradox is of course quite challenging to explain, as you have undoubtedly noticed already. In fact, I believe it is best experienced. Would you kindly solve this problem at the black board for us… Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco's head snapped up. Had that been his n… he didn't even finish that thought. Mentally cursing the professor's unfortunate timing the blond Slytherin rose from his seat and strode towards the board, picking up the proffered piece of chalk and began to work. At first the formula Professor Vector had written gave him no trouble; he solved the first parameters easy enough. The fourth parameter was a bit more complicated and Draco had to resort to writing side notes on the board to work this one out – his actions were greeted by the affirmative grunts of his teacher and a soft 'excellent', so he didn't think about it too much when he solved the last two parameters of the first line and proceeded to work on the second line of the problem. This was when he found himself struggling because although every single parameter made perfectly sense, their combination didn't.

The blond wizard mentally berated himself for his hesitation and then set on solving these parts of the formula as well, although he doubted the validity of his results. He was half-way through when suddenly, he halted. He could tell, without a doubt, that this was entirely wrong and that he had violated at least a 5 basic arithmantic rules. Draco was about to turn to Professor Vector and (grudgingly) ask for a recap, when someone exclaimed softly: "I can't believe you made that mistake! You can't solve this problem like that you need to…"

The voice trailed off as he turned around, icy eyes fixed on the offensive witch. Hermione Granger flushed in embarrassment.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry."

Professor Vector took the piece of chalk from the Slytherin and sent him to his seat, too fixated on Draco's calculations to notice more than Hermione's outburst.

"Miss Granger is indeed right, this is wrong. I assume you know that you have violated quite a collection of arithmantic laws and rules, although, to your credit, I have to say that as of yet you are unaware of most of them. As you all can see, Mister Malfoy's calculation starts out absolutely correct – excellent side notes, by the way, for a moment I thought you'd be able to solve this without a flaw. This here is very good, although you could have had this one here easier if only you had applied Di Vincenzo's 4th law. But beyond this point I am afraid that there isn't much that can be done about your calculation. You have neglected to isolate the paradox, which would have shown you that this problem can be solved only partially."

Professor Vector scribbled the correct calculation onto the board while talking, but again Draco's attention wasn't on the lesson; it wasn't on Kate Moon's legs either. There was only one thought occupying his mind:

_How dare she._

ooo

Meeting in the library for a make-out session was a debatably risky thing to do, not only because it was a public place but because there would be hell to pay if Madam Pince caught you in a lip lock with your sweetheart while using the bookshelves for leverage. You don't even _want_ to know what she did to those unfortunate souls she caught in a state of _partial undress_, or what happened when the books' protective spells kicked into overdrive should you manage to knock one of them over while indulging in the language of love. Nothing killed the mood more than a swarm of books hitting you on the head or Madam Pince breathing down your neck and asking you what precisely you thought you were _doing_.

Terry Boot knew this and later on, he would swear to everyone that would listen that he really hadn't intended to end up with Allison Pearson on his lap and his hand under her skirt; that the original plan had indeed been to study for Ancient Runes, but no one wanted to hear that. What people did want to hear was what Terry and Allison had witnessed by accident and unlike Terry, who was more or less a friend of one of the involved parties Allison had absolutely no qualms whatsoever to tell the story over and over again. When asked, she would start like this:

"Well I was sitting with Terry at a secluded table in the library, nearby section M-1. We were studying… alright, trying to study Ancient Runes but somehow ended up making out on his chair. Let me tell you that Terry Boot has the most magnificent hands on all of Hogwarts and he can kiss…"

Here Allison would trail off and look dreamily into a middle-distance, a slight blush colouring her cheeks. She would sigh deeply, lost in what could have happened had they remained uninterrupted and then clear her voice to continue.

"Anyway, suddenly, we heard someone approach. We sprang apart and straightened our uniforms when Draco Malfoy swept past us. Boy was he angry. You could have cut out a piece of that anger and take it home with you, I tell you.

So Malfoy sweeps towards section M-2, drops his book bag and grabs a book from the shelf. He opens it at a random page and begins to read, looking quite satisfied with himself. Terry and I looked at each other and resumed studying when someone else approaches and then Hermione Granger turns around the corner. She nods to us in greeting and we nod back. Terry waves her over and they say hello. He asks her what she's doing at the library so shortly before her potions lesson and I would really like to know why Terry knows when Hermione Granger has her potions lesson, you know that? I find it slightly disconcerting if the boy I've been coveting since term started can't remember when we're supposed to meet for studying but knows another girl's time table by heart. Is there something going on between Granger and Terry, do you know that? Are they an item? Or worse: were they an item last year and I didn't know? Is she his ex-girlfriend and he's been secretly pining for her? Ohmigod, is Granger pining for Terry? Do you know!"

At which point it would be wise for you to interrupt Allison and tell her jokingly that no, you don't find it that odd that Terry knows Hermione's time table – after all you know Harry Potter's and that doesn't make you an item (although you wish) and that as far as you know there was never anything more between Boot and Granger than patrolling the halls together once a month and would she _please_ get on with the story now?

"Alright if you say so… so, Granger begins to blab about her last Arithmancy lesson and she tells Terry about something called 'Ziffer paradox' and some guy… Levi Ziffer and that he wrote a book about this paradox and then they go all intellectual on me and begin to discuss that paradox. I tuned them out because I really didn't care and I'll drop Arithmancy next year anyways. So I turn my head and think 'Seeing as he is up so close, why don't you check out Malfoy for a moment or two?' and so I did.

Malfoy's an ass, you know, but one can't deny that he has flair. You know the moment he enters a room – it's like the whole attention suddenly focuses on him. He's handsome in an almost-too-perfect, ice-cold way. Well if you ignore that chin, anyways. And he's got a body… Merlin what wouldn't I give to see that body up close… really close, I mean. Don't get me wrong… I adore Terry but Malfoy, that's an entirely different league.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I was checking out Malfoy – doesn't hurt to look, does it – and I notice his hands on the book and they are just perfect. Alright so I might have a teensy little crush on Malfoy but come on, which straight girl in Hogwarts doesn't? Then I raised my head a little to study his face and I realize Malfoy is looking my way. And I think 'Oh my sweet Merlin… don't mess this one up, Allie' and I smile at him but he doesn't react, not even frown or sneer at me and then Granger takes a few steps away and you know what? He was watching _her_! What is it with Granger! First Terry and then Malfoy… and everyone knows what's going on in Gryffindor Tower between her, Potter and Weasley, don't they? I wonder how she does it… yes, yes the story. So, Malfoy watches Granger and I am slightly _dis_appointed in his _obvious_ bad taste and I dropped my gaze and accidentally read the title of the book in his hand just as Granger tells Terry that she'd better be looking for Levi Ziffer's _'Oddities and paradoxes of Arithmancy'_ now if she wanted to make it to potions on time – which is the book Malfoy is reading!

I had a bad feeling about this whole thing right then and there and I knew I ought to pack up, grab Terry and leave but … I couldn't. I wanted to know what would happen and so I remained seated and braced myself.

Granger turns around and finally notices Malfoy, who appears to be totally engrossed into that book. She looks at him rather warily and then walks towards the bookshelves. Before she reaches the shelves she stops suddenly and I guess that that was the moment she realized which book Malfoy was reading. You know how the M section is structured, don't you? From the tables near M-1 you have a perfect look into every aisle, so I could see their faces.

Anyway, Granger looks slightly incredulous at first, but then her face is suddenly blank. Malfoy turns a page.

"Excuse me," Granger said softly, "is that Levi Ziffer's 'Oddities and Paradoxes of Arithmancy', by any chance?" No response from Malfoy. Granger waited for a while then spoke again.

"I was wondering whether you would let me have a look at it. Unless of course you've decided to borrow it," she said.

Again no response from Malfoy, but he raised his head to look at the library clock and then said softly:

"Potions' starting in 5 minutes."

He dropped his gaze again to the book in his hand and then suddenly he began to talk quite conversationally with Granger. His voice was loud enough to carry over to where Terry and I sat. I'm fairly certain he did that on purpose.

"This book is fascinating, you know," Malfoy said. "Levi Ziffer's one of the leading arithmancers of modern wizarding society. His theories are in short amazing."

"I know," Granger ground out through bit teeth. I swear Malfoy was talking to her as if she had the mental capabilities of a flobberworm! Anyway, Malfoy ignored Granger's statement completely.

"Ziffer's discovered what we now call the _'Ziffer Paradox'_… you know, that thing we've discussed in Arithmancy today," he continued conversationally. Realization dawns on Granger's face. I'm afraid I had no clue what they were talking about. Malfoy pauses for a moment, as if contemplating, and then says:

"Ziffer does have a horrible writing style, though. Well, primarily he's a supreme arithmancer, after all, not an author. I've read the bit where he reviewed Rosamund O'Leary's theory about the flow of magic in artificially generated energy fields of equal polarity – she means wands with that – and it was kind of trying my patience. Ziffer's explanations and objections are quite intriguing but he can't hold a candle to O'Leary in my opinion when it comes to writing. Ziffer does have a tendency to beat around the bush, though. If he thinks O'Leary's theory is crap, he should simply say so and not write 'Ms O'Leary's theory is based on the irrational believe that the wand chooses the wizard or witch, however, she neglects to deliver sufficient proof to this vital part of her theory' – I guess she didn't have him convinced."

Malfoy looked thoughtful and I noticed his eyes sweeping towards the library clock again. I followed his gaze: the next class would start in 1 minute precisely. You know where the problem lies, don't you?

If Slytherins are late for Potions class, the worst Snape will do is take points from another house (preferably Gryffindor, thank Merlin) because it must have been their fault. If someone else comes in late, they can expect a massive loss of house points and a really nasty detention with either Snape himself or Filch. So Malfoy, being a Slytherin, could very well afford being late for Potions, but Granger, who's in Gryffindor (but who am I telling that, you probably knew that already), could not. I was pretty certain that Malfoy's intentions were to keep Granger long enough so she wouldn't be able to make it to class on time. If that were the case, this little show should be over soon. Malfoy sighed heavily.

"You know, I am undecided whether I ought to take this book out or not," he finally said. "Ziffer's style is really tiring, but this is the only copy of '_Oddities and Parodoxes of Arithmancy_' the library has. On the one hand, if I leave it here and decide that I do want to read it it'll be gone when I come back and to be quite frankly with you, that would really annoy me." Malfoy shook his head as if this had the potential to be the greatest tragedy of his young life, which I sincerely doubt.

"On the other hand should I take it with me now I might decide not to read it at all and it'll lie around my dorm for three complete weeks before I can return it without looking as if I hadn't studied it thoroughly enough – and I'd really like to avoid that because it would make me look like a fool. And Malfoys don't enjoy looking like fools," he added harshly.

I noticed the way he looked at Granger and if looks could kill there wouldn't have been enough left of her to bury it.

"Listen, I am sorry for what I said in Arithmancy. I got carried away with the whole paradox thing. I didn't mean to insult you, alright?"

What was that? Hermione Granger was apologizing to Draco Malfoy? Is the world coming to an end?

Malfoy closed the book with a loud 'clap' just as the bell rang. His eyes were fixed on Granger's.

"You didn't mean to insult me, Granger? You are sorry? Well if you are, you should have no problems making it up to me, or do you?" Malfoy asked in a dangerously silky voice. It sent shivers down my spine and I got all… well, you know.

Granger looked at him cautiously. I guess she knew something bad was coming. What am I saying: I am absolutely certain she did. Malfoy looked at her, disgust and contempt clearly visible on his face as he spoke. Give me a second... what was it again he said? Oh yes, he said:

"Your presence in these sacred halls of magical education insults me, Granger. Your very existence is offensive to me. I am willing to overlook your unfortunate appearance – after all, the world needs its ugly ducklings – but your scandalous heritage I cannot. You sully this great institution. You and your kind lead astray pliable minds by bringing your worthless muggle morals into a world that is far beyond such pettiness, unlike the one you originate from. You flaunt your supposed superiority into the faces of people you are not even worth looking at. Make it up to me, why don't you? Go for a swim with the giant squid. Jump off your precious Gryffindor Tower and while you're at it, take Potty and Weasel King with you; no need for brooms. Have Longbottom try to brew that Shrinking Solution again – mind, on his own, this time – and then drink to my health and superiority. In short: why don't you do us all a favour and die?"

I felt like I had been slapped quite forcefully. That was way over the top as well as under the belt. I tried to see Hermione Granger's face but she had it lowered to her chest and her hair fell forward like a curtain. Terry began to rise but I tugged him back onto his chair. It wouldn't do for either of us to get caught in their line of fire.

So, as I said, I couldn't see Granger's face but I _could_ see her _hands_ and right now, her hands where clenched so tightly, that it must have hurt. I hoped she wouldn't hit Malfoy but I could understand if she did. I snuck another quick glance at the clock. We were all already 4 minutes overdue. I wondered how I should make it on time to divination or whether it would pay off to skip class today in favour of watching the showdown between Granger and Malfoy. I decided on the latter, needless to say.

"You are one to talk about offence, Malfoy," Granger said softly and her voice was eerily calm. She lifted her head and I could see her face, which was just as calm as her voice but let me tell you that I was never so scared of Hermione Granger than in that moment when she made eye-contact with Malfoy right after he insulted her.

"Just who do you think you are that you can command me around?" she asked. It was a rhetorical question, but Malfoy answered it nevertheless.

"I'm a true wizard, unlike you, you wanna-be witch."

"True wizard? Ha! True coward is more like it. Why don't you crawl back down to your dungeons and hide behind your cronies, huh?"

"I'm missing something here, I'm really missing something… what's wrong with this picture?"

"That's a no-brainer. You inside the library, that's what's wrong."

"No-brainer? Now I know: Potty and Weasel King! Tell me, where are your two souteneurs, mudblood?"

Malfoy's eyes roamed over Granger's form in the most obscene fashion while he said that.

"Say… how much is an hour in your… ah… pleasurable company?" he leered at her and that was the moment I could literally see Granger snap.

I heard the slap before I actually saw it, seriously. If she wants to, Hermione Granger can move damn fast. One moment she stood there, hands balled tightly into shaking fists, the next she had her right hand raised. The force of her slap had thrown Malfoy's head to the side and a shiny red handprint formed rapidly on his cheek. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd be keeping a nice shiner from that one.

There was a moment of stunned silence, the only audible sound being Granger's heavy breathing and Malfoy grounding his teeth. Neither Terry nor I moved. Then Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Hermione Granger and I knew something bad, something really bad, was about to happen.

"That's it… that's the last time you've touched me, mudblood," he hissed and his hand moved to his waist, as if to grab his wand, but then he pulled up in a sudden movement. I closed my eyes, waiting for the sound of flesh hitting flesh again but it never came.

Blinking, I slowly opened my eyes. Madam Pince, in all her flowered robed glory, stood right next to Malfoy, holding his left hand so tightly that the blood flow in it was starting to recede.

"Mister Malfoy," she said, sounding even scarier than Snape on a bad day. "Explain yourself."

ooo

Severus Snape had meant to keep Draco Malfoy behind after today's lesson to talk to him in private. Not about his plans for the boy's future (he'd sooner check himself into St. Mungo's), but to see how his godson was coping not only with the loss of his father but also his school work, his prefect duties and the family affairs. He had planned it as a nice afternoon tea with some candied fruits (a personal favourite of his) and gingerbread.

He hadn't planned for it to be a pre-detention talk and he most certainly hadn't expected to see Irma Pince barrelling through his classroom door as if the Dark Lord himself where after her, making a face that would have probably worried said lord, if not scared him.

Madame Pince's angry tirade was delivered too quickly even for him to follow, but he picked up the key-phrases 'despicable behaviour', 'mudblood', 'never in my entire career' and 'appropriate punishment' (more than once, not in that order), thus concluding that the librarian – a muggle-born witch herself – had probably witnessed Draco delivering his favourite insult to a fellow student; he was not at all surprised to find out who that student was. While the librarian continued to unleash her anger about Draco's behaviour at a volume that put every howler to shame, Snape's mind kicked into overdrive. Somehow he managed to get a couple of sentences out that managed to calm Madame Pince down a little while he promised to take appropriate measures and thanked her for bringing this matter to his attention. Assured of his compliance the librarian swept out of the room in an impressive swirl of flowered robes (which had never seemed more threatening than in that moment), leaving behind a collective feeling of 'what was that' and 'whew, glad that's over'. Snape was relieved when finally the lesson ended and he could dismiss his class.

"So if I understood you correctly, it all comes down to Miss Granger being her usual, insufferable self and you picking the worst possible moment and the worst possible place to toss around the worst possible insult… a second time," the Head of Slytherin said, eyeing his cup of tea as if daring it to object.

Draco was standing by the hearth, his head raised to the third enchanted portrait of a clearing Severus Snape possessed in which right now, there was _no_ overly curious nymph trying to overhear their conversation. But even if there would have been the blond wizard wouldn't have noticed her, his mind on other things.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Snape said a little more loudly, rising from his chair when his inquiry failed to draw a reaction from his student. "Draco."

The boys hand twitched as he tilted his head to the side, staring at the landscape forever caught in oil with a look of contemplation.

"This may sound disturbing now," he said quietly. "But would you believe I was enjoying myself up until the point where Pince interrupted?"

Severus watched Draco closely. He seemed calm and relatively relaxed.

"You insulted a fellow student in the library, calling her a prostitute to her face and defiling her heritage," here Draco snorted, "twice. The way I know Madam Pince, a detailed story of what has happened and whatever she supposes must have happened before that will have spread throughout the school by dinnertime, possibly even sooner. That leaves you with roughly 2 hours to contemplate what to do now."

"Pardon?" Snape's charge asked, turning around.

"You are a grown man, Draco. You are currently acting as the head of your clan. Surely you are aware of the fact that insulting Miss Granger the way you did puts you, your family and all your efforts to keep the ministry off your back into a less than favourable light. If I were you, I'd try to limit the damages quickly; _before_ this unfortunate affair leaves the castle."

Draco frowned. "And what do you suppose I should do?" he asked cautiously.

"I happen to have an idea but I am absolutely certain that you won't like it…"

ooo

"I am what!" Hermione Granger wailed.

"I am sorry, Miss Granger, there is nothing I can do to help you. The library is Madam Pince's responsibility and if she feels it necessary to ban you and Mr Malfoy from it, she's perfectly at right to do so. Think of it as part of your punishment."

"Punishment? Why punishment? Hermione is the bloody injured party here! Why is she being punished for Malfoy being the bastard he is?" Ron exclaimed.

"Language, Mr Weasley."

Minerva McGonagall never believed in discussing misbehaviour behind closed doors – with few notable exceptions. Usually, Hermione Granger was one of the students that warranted such an exception, but when she had come to the Gryffindor common room to talk to the girl, Professor McGonagall found it empty, save for her three most prominent students. There were very few things kept secret between them; unfortunate encounters with Draco Malfoy were most probably not on that list.

"I agree with Ron, professor. Malfoy had it coming. He uses every chance to antagonize and provoke us. Hermione was merely standing up for herself. I don't see how that warrants a two-month-ban from the library," Harry said. The brunette witch shot him a grateful look.

"Be that as it may, resorting to violence is never the answer, Mr Potter. If Mr Malfoy tries to provoke you, ignore him. Don't react to his taunts by retaliating. That's what he wants. If you refuse to react, you take away his reward. As for you, I had expected better of you, Miss Granger. I am severely disappointed that one of my students, you above all others, would resort to physical means in order to win an argument over something as mundane as a book. As for the length of the ban, I trust you are familiar enough with the library rules to know that a two-month-ban is the usual punishment for attacking fellow students in the library. Your punishment is therefore most appropriate." Professor McGonagall said in a stern voice.

It was then that the Fat Lady saw fit to interrupt, saying that Professor Snape and a student of his were standing outside, waiting. Of course Snape knew the password for Gryffindor Tower, but he knew better than to use it in front of Draco Malfoy, who would, undoubtedly, get himself into more trouble once he knew the pass.

The portrait swung open and the two wizards climbed into the common room. Malfoy's disgust was clearly evident and he mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'undignified'.

"Mr Malfoy has something he would like to say to Miss Granger," Professor Snape said, nodding towards his fellow head of house and then turned his gaze onto the blond wizard next to him.

Draco Malfoy on his part drew in a deep breath. He shot the black-clad man a questioning look ('Do I really have to?') and pulled his shoulders back, standing even straighter.

"Miss Granger," he said in a clear voice, "I should like to apologize to you." Dumbfounded and amazed silence met Draco's hesitant voice (Was Draco Malfoy actually apologizing to Hermione Granger?) as he continued: "My behaviour and my words were most unacceptable and uncalled for. Your comment in Arithmancy riled me up and although you apologized to me twice, I couldn't let it go. I can only excuse my actions by saying that my family and I are going through a very trying time and that it has taken its toll on me. This doesn't make what I said and did any better, but I hope it helps you understand that my actions were not meant to be malevolent towards you. I am appalled at what I let myself say and do and I assure you that it won't happen again. Kindly accept my apology." He ended, looking as immaculately careless as he always did, his nonchalance belying his words of regret.

Schooling her face into equally nonchalant features, Hermione nodded her head.

"I accept your apology, Mr Malfoy, but only on the condition that you accept mine as well. It was wrong of me to lash out at you like that," she said.

"That settles that then," Professor McGonagall said, smiling proudly. "I shall talk to Madam Pince and see what we can do about that ban – although I can't make any promise. However, we can't have the two of you lagging behind in your studies, now can we? As for the offensive book…" she trailed off and drew Levi Ziffer's _'Oddities and paradoxes of Arithmancy'_ out of her robes, "I suppose it would be only fair to let Mr Malfoy read it first, since he was also first to pick it up at the library, don't you agree, Miss Granger?"

To Draco's delight, the brunette witch seemed very reluctant to give her consent. Knowing she couldn't accept, he shook his head and held his hands up defensively.

"No, no, Professor. Granger should have it – ladies first. Besides, I wouldn't have known which book to pick up if she hadn't asked Professor Vector for further reading material at the end of the lesson," he said quickly.

The head of Gryffindor shot her star-pupil a questioning look.

"No, you take it. I insist. You got it first, so you should read it first, too. You can pass it on to me once you're through with it," Hermione replied softly, her eyes sweeping over the floor. Professor McGonagall smiled even wider and handed the book over.

"If you excuse us now," Snape said with a curt nod, "Mr Malfoy and I have things to discuss."

And with that he pushed open the portrait hole and motioned for his student to exit through it, following behind closely. They left Gryffindor Tower, neither saying a word until they had reached the dungeons.

"Apologize! You made me apologize to her!" Draco suddenly burst out, the book held tightly in his left hand.

"Indeed I did."

"Merlin, what will my father say when he hears of this," Draco groaned, covering his face with his other hand. "Malfoys don't apologize… not to scum, anyway."

"Your father will be proud that you took the appropriate measures to avoid further trouble after you let your self-control slip."

The blond wizard snorted.

"Listen, Draco, I couldn't care less about whether you have a personal vendetta against Miss Granger or not. Just make sure it doesn't become one of my concerns."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean: make sure you don't get caught. There is very little your lawyers can do for you once it becomes public that Draco Malfoy, who was _oh so charming_ in that Teen Magic interview – yes, I know about it – throws around the worst possible insult our society knows as if he hadn't a care in the world. There is also very little I can do for you if you are caught in flagrante. I don't want to have to punish you, so kindly ensure that I won't have to."

The young wizard nodded his head to show he had understood and Severus Snape allowed himself the luxury of a tiny smile. Miracles did happen after all… every now and then.

11


End file.
